


there will come soft rains.

by gavinsaleks (ohmaggies)



Category: The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fallout, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief Descriptions of Minor/Severe Injuries, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Looking After One Another, M/M, No Knowledge of Fallout Necessary, Strangers to Friends, brett/trevor as a background relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-04-26 05:49:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14395632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmaggies/pseuds/gavinsaleks
Summary: “It’s a plan, dude,” Aleks says, and shakes the hand James raises.“A plan.”Patch up James, visit James’ friends, part ways (re: ditch James) right before Novac… Aleks can manage that..After being forced out of his previous settlement and into the wasteland alone, Aleks meets a stranger who is willing to help him.





	1. a boy named marchant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a rough fallout au! the concept and ideas are all from the game, but my knowledge is slightly limited so there will be details that aren't true to the canon. i hope you enjoy it, though! i've been running through the idea since i started watching james' fallout 4 playthru and couldn't wait to get to writing it :D 
> 
> this Should be updated weekly but life is a little busy right now so we'll have to see! this and two other chapters are already written so the sooner i finish the rest, the sooner it'll be updated ! 
> 
> all typos are mine because life just be like that sometimes. 
> 
> thanks  ♡.
> 
> \- rachel.

 

 

 

 

 

> “You see, it’s so frightfully difficult when you’re nobody. You’re so at the mercy of things.”

— Katherine Mansfield, from _Stories by Katherine Mansfield; “At the Bay”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

**chapter one**

_a boy named marchant._

 

   Aleks falls, his hands find an unsteady hold in a gap between a few rocks, his fingers crumbling the hard sand to rock. His elbows aches and bleeds where he cut it, and pure adrenaline pushes him forward, his legs scrambling at the red sand as he tries to reach the top of the hill. A shot, accompanied by a harsh yell that makes his whole body suddenly cold, lands beside his feet, close enough for the warmth of its laser to sizzle at his pant leg.

“Marchant, you fuckin’ asshole!” A voice echoes, drawing a deep, shaky exhale from deep in Aleks’ lungs.

He's messed up a lot, made more enemies than he learned to count up to, but he still finds himself blinking away at the burning of future tears. He's been in worst situations, but being accused of betraying the one person he's actually liked in this wasteland stings in a way he can't quite describe; it hit him hard, though, and he's only had mere minutes to try and process it.

“Shit, shit, fuckin'- holy shit,” he manages, feet sliding against their will as he reaches the top of the hill, his eyes scanning the horizon for some kind of shelter. Or, somewhere to hide, at the very least.

Behind him, he can hear shouting and gunshots, too many recognisable voices among the chaos. People he knows, people he's lived with for years, armed to the teeth and ready to kill him the moment they see him. That hurts, but he has bigger, more important things to focus on, things he can think about later when he's figured out how he's supposed to survive on his own out here.

He spent most of his life surviving in the wasteland, but the company and security of people is not a luxury he has now that he's fucked everything up. He's gotten so used to having others, and to having a place to call his own, that his stomach churns and he can hear his heartbeat pounding against his ribs, his breathing foretelling of the kind of fun he'll have later. By fun, he means that he knows he'll end up curled in the corner of a beaten down  house trying to muffle his crying and shaking into the filth on his shirt.

Aleks presses on, ignores the shock of pain that tightens at his calf, and tries to remember what years of scavenging taught him. He was always too fast for his own good, so quick he barely had the time to realise he was out of breath before he was already where he needed to be. Ramsey and his hunters gave Aleks a break from that, a home and a bed and food and an existence that didn't mean he had to rely solely on the wasteland. Now they think he's a traitor, and he has no doubt there will be a huge bounty on his head before the sun sets in a few hours.

So, this is what messing up and being alone feels like. This is what your friends turning on you without an explanation and wanting nothing more than you dead feels like, and Aleks can confirm that it fucking aches. Like, hurts more than when he was sixteen and a stray scavenger shot him in his side. The bullet barely scraped his hip but it left him lying there screaming and writhing for what seemed like hours before Ramsey found him.

“Walk, just walk,” he tells himself, voice raw and too close to broken for his own comfort. He runs his hands through his hair and keeps his footing as steady as possible, his scuffed up shoes sliding down the sand of the hill more than they let him actually walk down it himself. “Walk, Aleksandr- it's fine, you're fine, just-”

And, okay, he's really not fine.

-

Aleks spent quite some time in New California when he was younger, and less experienced with the wasteland to trust himself out there for too long. The Hub provided a nice place to gather himself for a few days, trade weapons or stories with the friendlier raiders- who were rough, but not as rough as some of the others Aleks had encountered- and make a few friends. Jordan was in charge for a while, only of a small, slightly less civilised part, because people listened to him. 

It was quiet there, everyone kept to themselves for the most part, and Aleks would say goodbye to a few select people when he left. He'd go for a few months and return when he was tired, or when he got reminded of how lonely he was spending his days travelling when he could instead be gathered around a fire with a couple of entertaining strangers.

Eventually Aleks abandoned it, because he went back one day and found it occupied by mostly raiders, none of whom he was too ready to interact with. He'd dealt with enough in the past to be cautious, and to know when they were either going to let him pay his way past or shoot him right between his eyes before he would have a chance to react.

Aleks never saw his friends after that; Jordan had left to another city taking Dan with him, and Aleks heard rumours about Seamus and Eddie being dead that he didn't want to find out if they were true. He was sixteen, then, and had long, dark hair that wasn't yet lightened so much by the sun. Admittedly, he was more naive then, less aware of how lucky he was to have lived this long on what seemed more like pure luck than actual skill or survival instinct.

Those days were better, though dangerous and hard, and the heat was near unbearable some days.

Two months passed since he abandoned The Hub, decided instead to head further out into the wasteland and risk radiation instead of brave another city, or the possibility of raiders having taken over other places. He had killed countless ghouls in his years, and wasn't about to lose sleep over it, but he lied awake for three whole nights after killing someone for the first time. It was their fault, he told himself, and screamed into his sweaty palms, closed his eyes so he didn't have to see the dry blood attached to his skin.

He hadn't exactly made it some kind of goal to go through this life as some kind of coward, or bitch, or useless pacifist. The world wasn't like that anymore, and Aleks hadn't lived long enough to remember when things weren't like this. He'd heard stories, of when people were people, and murder was bad and not sometimes a necessity, or something others like raiders did for fun.

Their name was Dexter, the person he killed. He found their name scribbled on the inside of an old bag they were carrying, and could never really forget the way the guilt had felt settled in his gut. He had pressed a hand to his stomach just to make sure it hadn't been hollowed out, because it twisted as if someone had pressed a knife into his chest and cut out all the flesh that was once there. His hands were covered in warm, thick blood, and their gun was heavy in his hands but not quite because of its weight.

Ramsey found him three years later, screaming bloody murder even as his throat grew dry and raw, and painful beyond belief. The high pitch of his own pained reaction to the gunshot hurt his own ears, left him hearing the ring of something non-existent for weeks. It wasn't that bad was the general consensus, Ramsey's medic saying he was lucky but would need rest to heal. So, Aleks stayed, and stayed, and stayed. No one asked him to leave so he didn't, but Ramsey didn't question his occasional day trek out into the wasteland for fun, or the way he would rub at a phantom gunshot.

Now, that's all ruined.

Aleks has never known how to keep a good thing, how to treat it the way he should, so he ruined it instead. First The Hub, now what he had with Ramsey and his hunters, and lastly, probably his own life.

He's a traitor to them, they'll have news and descriptions passed to every citizen and every city in mere days, and Aleks won't be safe anywhere. Ramsey said once that some people faired better on their own and Aleks, who had spent so much lonely time on his own, hadn't ever been able to understand what he meant. How could being on your own ever be better than having people, and safety, and warmth?

Now, he almost wants to find Ramsey and shake him by his shoulders, and say, “I understand, I understand!”

Some people are better on their own, not for their own sake but for other people's. Aleks understands.

-

The sun sets the way it always does, as though Aleks didn't lose everything and everyone a few hours ago. There's no sight of rain like he'd hoped; he'd wanted a little bit, at least, to parch the unpleasant dryness of his throat and let him clean the sand and grit from the injury on his knee. It's been a particularly sunny season, and people are too hesitant to call it a drought in fear of jinxing themselves.

Personally, Aleks thinks it's stupid, but he moves his hand to grab at his side as though forgetting he's not injured there, and hisses as the wind hits the exposed skin of his wound. It's been so long- too long- since he got injured in any way, used to people always having his back or medicine being offered the second he so much as got a scratch.

Those people are dead now, or trying to make sure he is, so he pushes the thought back. It's much easier to focus on the rolling in of a dry storm, of sand being whipped about, of angry voices in the distance. They won't stop looking for him until he's dead; Ramsey is the most patient man Aleks has ever met, he would wait ten years if it meant he one day would get the closure he needed. Aleks prefers the immediate, for things to happen when he wants them to, which is a bad habit, a flaw he hasn't bothered to work on.

The house he finds himself in is run down, glass shattered on the floor, the door hanging off its hinges, but he's not in a position to find something better. A shaky house is a million times better than being outside at night in this weather without a weapon, which would kill him far before Ramsey would have his chance to. The ghouls are relentless, and fair far better in these kind of situations than Aleks himself does, especially with no light or warmth and an open wound that’ll probably need stitches.

Aleks knew a ghoul once, who was slightly more aware of everything than normal ones, and could talk and smile and laugh as though he was still alive. Radiation is what does it, though there are some people more recently who just die or get hurt and come back, and it always seemed like a fate worse than death; meeting Aron, with his hair cut short and his glasses cracked as they rested on his nose, only further cemented that. He couldn’t remember much from before, but he managed a noise that sounded like a name the first time they met and Aleks stuck with it, cursed him with the name ‘Aron’ until he died. Which, he did. Which, they all will eventually. A raider, in armour, trying to push Aleks aside to get to the ghoul he was trying hopelessly to protect, and Aron cowered in the corner helplessly.

As a kid, Aleks had heard plenty about ghouls. How vicious, how cruel, how mad they were, their brains rotted and their bodies more radiation than skin or bone or flesh. Aron wasn’t like any other ghoul Aleks had ever met, or the ones he’d been told tales about as a kid. He was raised by a group of weapon vendors, too young to know much about anything but his own name, and too young to know much English to understand that when people called him the ‘Marchant Son’, they were actually calling him the ‘Merchant Son’.

Aleks Merchant slowly became Aleks Marchant, after his small group of pseudo-parents were killed, and he was left on his own to survive. He adapted to the world, didn’t blink when someone pretended they recognised him from when he was a boy, with long brown hair and a muddled accent that didn’t belong; the boy from Far Harbor, raised by a group of merchants turned fathers turned ghouls, all of them dead but him.

He met Aron when he was fifteen, all lanky limbs and hair he cut himself that was fading from exposure to sunlight. His hands were wrapped around the hilt of a makeshift knife, his breaths cold and his hair wet from the rain, and when Aron raised his hands in what looked like a classic ghoul move, Aleks expected to die. He ducked his head and stumbled back, and cautiously opened his eyes to see Aron standing there, breathing heavily and panicked, arms still in the air in surrender.

Aron’s voice was low and raspy as he said, “Please don’t shoot,” and Aleks was so shocked he could only stare. His parents, the vendors, were wrong about something, so he shoved his hand forward to offer to Aron and Aron shook it after a moment, a long, unfulfilled moment where Aleks wondered if he’d made a mistake. But, Aron took it slowly, and they smiled in mutual, unsaid agreement between them.

He was Aleks’ first friend before he died, to Aleks’ screams and shouts in his ears, and a bullet finding its way into his skull even as Aleks tried to hit the gun out of the raider’s hand. That was the day Aleks killed someone, sixteen and staring at the body of the man on the ground, Aron dead beside him, and Aleks cried; sobbed against the frame of an old dusty couch until his throat was sore and dry, and the beginnings of morning were slipping into the room. Somewhere deep down, he’d always known Aron was going to die, because people don’t like ghouls enough to leave them alive, but it hurt, and he had expected it to.

He buried Aron in a spot beside the house they’d been staying in for a few days, and took what he could carry from Aron’s bag and the raider’s, and walked for three days straight until his feet blistered and bled. Aleks didn’t think he’d feel so guilty about it but he did, because Dexter had been trying to help but was too stubborn to listen, and Aleks isn’t the most forgiving person but he is understanding. Even through the guilt, even through the fact he couldn’t stop replaying the moment in his head and all the things he could’ve done to make things different, to have kept Aron alive, he couldn’t help how horrible he felt about it.

Killing someone is never easy, and killing ghouls after that became more of a chore than it had been before. Every one reminded him of Aron, and rotting flesh, and everything he could’ve done that he didn’t. And, of the vendor’s, the merchants, teaching him how to clean a gun as they spoke, and their words dripping with bitterness, resentment, disgust, as they said, “Too much radiation, that’s what does it, and it’s not like many of them had much to live for anyway.”

For the most part, Aleks managed not to think about it, but there were forever going to be ghouls who wanted to kill him, and ghouls that didn’t, and people calling them ‘zombies’ in that tone of voice Aron had hated so much.

Aleks now tries to ignore how similar this couch he’s leaning against is to the one Aron died beside, and focuses instead on his stomach growling pathetically under his layers of clothing. The days here away from most settlements are warm and sweat-inducing, but the nights tend to grow cold as soon as the sun disappears, leaving him shivering without a fire.

Noises outside drag his attention, the scuttle of what is probably radroaches, too stupid to find their way inside hopefully. Still, Aleks reaches to grab quietly at the blade he keeps tucked into the waistband of his pants, covered for his own safety by a manufactured brown leather; he’s had it for years, pressed into his hands by Eddie the last time he saw him, before they knew it would be the last. It’s been more help to Aleks these few years than any gun, though it wouldn’t hurt to try and find one.

The sounds outside are more than definitely human, a man or woman or ghoul clearing their throat near the window to Aleks’ left. He’s suddenly thankful that he didn’t light a fire for the warmth or to combat the darkness, focuses instead on pressing himself as close to the wall as possible so if they were to peak in, they wouldn’t see him. It could be one of Ramsey’s men who got lost or kept looking when the others left, looking for nothing more than to put a bullet in Aleks’ head.

The thought, admittedly, is a little more terrifying than Aleks wants to think about, how he could so easily be dead by morning if he falls asleep and gets found.

“Someone there?” a voice calls, shattering the picturesque silence of night, and Aleks clenches his teeth as he slowly breathes out.

The last thing he needs is to make any unneeded noise that would quickly catch the attention of anyone with careful enough ears to hear it; and, god, he has to get out of here, seriously, because even in the face of danger, his eyes are heavy. Sore from the wind earlier and the sand that got flicked into them, and his lips are dry, and despite knowing sleep won’t fix it, he needs to rest.

A light briefly shines across him, fading into the rest of the house, and Aleks curses himself for choosing somewhere to settle for the night that wasn’t further from Ramsey and his men. Aleks knows what they’re like, he lived with them for years enough to be familiar with the fact that they aren’t easily convinced or swayed to give up, and they know him, too, because of course he’d fall into the first empty place he found. He’s an idiot, and if this one simple, moronic choice gets him killed, he’s going to be more than pissed at himself for it.

Ramsey’s bounty hunters and mercenaries are ruthless, and Aleks used to laugh with them or go out on trips into the wasteland and be grateful that they were on his side. They would kill and torture the people they found regardless of legality, and Aleks never quite had the stomach for stuff like that; it was a little much, the savagery of it all, so he stayed on opposite sides of it. Jones was his favourite, a guy around his height with glasses and a loud voice, because he was a significant amount more playful and entertaining than the others. All of them sat and drank, thought about their dead families and the lucky lives the vault dwellers lived, and Aleks found it a bit too depressing to be around.

If this is a bounty hunter- if this is _Jones_ \- then Aleks is most certainly dead. Ramsey will want him dead, he’ll put out a description of Aleks and tell them to shoot on sight, that there’s no room for traitors like him in this waste of a land. All Aleks can do is hope, is tug his knees to his chest and hold onto his knife, and pray that he isn’t found yet. He will be eventually, he just doesn’t want it to be right now.

“You in that house?” the voice calls out again, and Aleks breathes warmth into his hands, anxiously grips his knife.

The light touches his feet, his hair too short to hide his face from view these days, coloured lighter by the sun and he waits for the ball to drop; for the person to recognise him and shoot, or throw a knife, or sneer his name in the same tone Ramsey had. Aleks’ stomach drops, and he glances up to see an unfamiliar figure, his fingers tightening around his own weapon as they sweep the light over his face. He’s going to die here, he’s so totally going to fucking die here, this person is--

“The fuck are you?” they ask, shifting their light from Aleks' face to the concrete fall.

Aleks’ eyes adjust to the soft darkness to see their face. Their hair,  long and tucked into a now loose bun on the back of their head, small curls framing their face and hanging out of the bun, is dark. Their features are soft, with warm, brown eyes and dark brows, and they’re strong, with gentle muscles hidden under their shirt from view. Aleks hasn’t seen them before, that he knows of, but it doesn’t settle any of his nerves. They could just be one of Ramsey’s men he hasn’t met or someone from another settlement that heard of the hefty award for capturing Ramsey’s traitor boy. Boy, as though he isn’t twenty-four.

“W _ho am I?_ Who are you?” Aleks presses, leaning towards them with his eyebrows furrowed, his knees untucked from his chest as he cautiously spreads his legs out in front of himself. “This is my house, dude.”

“This place is a piece of shit,” they say, and there’s an honest, unimpressed, though friendly tone to their voice that Aleks doesn’t know what to make of quite yet.

“Fuck, okay, don’t hold back, tell me exactly what you think, you asshole,” he retorts, and his voice deepens against his will. They reach back, and for a moment he expects them to grab for a gun, but they don’t, at first, so he says, “If you’re going to shoot me, can we get that out of the way first? I’m pretty tired, I’m-”

They laugh, they actually laugh, and Aleks’ face twists into surprise before settling on confusion. Instead, they pull their hand back into sight and toss a water bottle into his lap, his tired hands barely managing to catch it before it lands. It’s full for the most part, and clean, and he meets their eye before he twists open the cap, raising it slowly, his hands shaking with hesitation. He isn’t sure what to think, but they seem friendly, and if this water isn’t poisoned or this isn’t a trap, they might be a decent companion for his travel across the wasteland. Part of him was expecting to be alone for this time, but he wouldn’t mind the company if they don’t already have someone or something.

“Uh, thank you,” he manages, and hears them laugh to themself.

“No worries, you looked like you needed it more than me,” they say, and Aleks glances up to see them smiling, small but bright. “I’m James, by the way. We seemed to skip pleasantries and go right into you swearing at me and calling me an asshole, so I didn’t get to introduce myself.”

“Marchant,” Aleks introduces.

“Like merchant?” James asks, amused, and catches the bottle as Aleks tosses it back.

“Yeah, I guess, dude. Whatever.”

James shoves the bottle back in the bag strapped around his waist, settled on his left hip like a small pouch, and Aleks doesn’t miss the small wince that escapes his mouth. His teeth are gritted, the blood on his hands that Aleks had assumed was from something not human leaks through the fabric of his shirt near his right rib, and he seems to notice because he makes an attempt to hide it even though it’s too late.

“-you okay?” Aleks asks, hesitantly, and is met with an unsure look.

“There were a couple raiders in the area,” James explains, pressing a hand to his wound and pulling it back with his palm red. “I took ‘em out but one must’ve gotten me. _Shit_.”

“You have any bandages? I’ve patched myself up enough times to sorta know what I’m doing,” Aleks offers, and James nods as if finding his words are too difficult. He takes his backpack off and passes it to Aleks, who takes a guess at the first pocket and is victorious; and, Jesus Christ, there’s no way anyone would need this much stuff for a simple day trip from a settlement. Which, means James is probably on his own, or with a small group nearby that’s traveling, but it’s something. It means that maybe Aleks won’t have to be by himself for much longer.

James walks over, removing his jacket and the extra belt resting over his hips, and holds an unsteady hand to the wound that’s bleeding more now than it was. Aleks can nearly taste the iron, though he rationalises that he’s just thinking too much about his own injury, and he pushes thoughts of how bad James’ gash may be.

“You, uh, you mind?” James breaks the silence, and Aleks glances up naively to find him standing above, his shadow shielding Aleks from the little amount of light James’ flashlight is giving off.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course, dude,” Aleks says, and James appears confused until Aleks shuffles over, eyes shifting between James and the spot beside himself.

James lowers himself down with a hiss, his fingers twitching and his breaths heavy, before he finally manages to sit down. The wasteland is dangerous, no one is without their fair share of injuries inflicted upon them by creatures or raiders, with a rare exception being the vault dwellers who haven’t yet seen the day. Aleks doesn’t know if they’re lucky or burdened; if it’s better to live for years and years underground in ignorance, or if some of them crave the salt and the sand and the sweat of a short life of freedom. As a kid, he couldn’t think of anything worse than being trapped down there, but as he got older, he found himself wishing for that kind of simplicity. Like, right now.

If he lived in a vault, he wouldn’t be in this situation, in this torment with Ramsey.

“Thanks, by the way,” James says, and Aleks unravels the gauze in the silence that follows. “Raider scum, man, I’m telling you. Fucking assholes.”

“You’re not some kind of raider?” Aleks asks, for confirmation. Most people aren’t alone these days, and the ones that are have been banished or escaped from a vault, or a lone raider that lost the rest of their crew. It doesn’t hurt to ask, before Aleks divulges more of whatever useless information he has.

“Mercenary, but there hasn’t been a lot of work in these parts recently.”

Aleks knew plenty of those growing up, ones who would hang around the group of merchants that raised Aleks and provide protection on their travels. He always thought about growing up and becoming one, continuing to work out of the harbor doing something more useful than selling old, used items; not that that’s bad, he just figured himself someone who would get older and help protect people, you know. Someone who would do something good, and look badass doing it. There aren’t a lot of opportunities for heroics in the wasteland, but nine year old Aleks was chasing that a little.

“I was supposed to be helping this one guy transport his stuff to Novac, but he never made it. Now I’m trapped here a bit. He had the map on ‘im when he died, so I’m lost.”

“You from Novac?” Aleks asks, perking up. He was hoping he’d be able to find his own way there after the heat around him had died, knowing the path there from trips with merchants when he was a kid.

“Why? You know how to get there?”

Aleks reaches forward and tugs gently at the hem of James’ shirt, prompting him to lift it up. The cut is deep and slightly older, a few hours maybe, but it’s red and pulsing, and it must hurt like a bitch. Aleks has had worse, but he was incapacitated by a stray bullet to his side when he was younger, and this seems as though it either went through or got stuck; neither of which sound great, but Aleks knows what he prefers. James whistles through his nose as Aleks pressed a rag to it, trying to stem the blood flow, and his eyes are wet with unshed tears when he meets Aleks’ eye.

“I spent a bit of time there as a kid,” Aleks offers, and pushes James’ jeans down slight on his waist. “It’s a few days from here, but I know where it is. Just depends.”

“Depends on what?” James breathes, his hand grabbing Aleks’ wrist before he can finish cleaning the wound.

“If you’re strong enough to walk there. It’s a long trip, dude, I wouldn’t want to do it with an injury like that. At least not without a doctor or a horse, or whatever.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

Aleks tries gently to pull his hand back but James doesn’t let go, instead uses it to make Aleks get closer. James is older, from the wrinkles and the effects of prolonged exposure to sunlight clear in his skin, but he’s attractive. It’s hard not to notice the softness buried in his features, the youthfulness of his older eyes, and Aleks’ lungs force a small breath out through his mouth as he waits. James is still staring, determined, and Aleks’ hands and fingers are dripped wet with blood.

“Let yourself heal instead of jumping up at the first fuckin’ opportunity to do something,” Aleks says, and his voice is too loud for the small distance between them. “Novac’s three days away, at the very least. You can’t seriously want to get up at dawn and start walking there when you look the way you do.”

James nods, letting go of where he was gripping tight at Aleks’ wrist, and ducking his head. His eyes close, his jaw tightening as Aleks goes back to trying to clean his wound. The bleeding has stopped for a moment, but Aleks can tell it’s fresh and won’t stay dry for very long, not even as James tries to move to let gravity work for him.

“Stop,” Aleks says, and James looks tiredly up at him. “You’re gonna make it worse, just stay where you are and don’t move. You’re a mess, dude, okay? _Stop_.”

James stills, though Aleks can see his chest slowly heave, his hands tighten at his sides as his injury is cleaned and tended to. He's trying to look as though he isn't bothered by it all, but Aleks presses a little too deep and James’ features wrinkle, draw his eyebrows together and thin his lips. Aleks watches because he doesn't know how not to, because he needs to know what hurts or what doesn't but James isn't willing to say anything about it.

“Almost,” Aleks offers, and James moves a hand to grab again at Aleks’ bloodied one. This time, he doesn't hold onto his wrist, instead squeezing Aleks’ fingers.

“Give me a sec?” he asks, and the words take too much effort to say.

Aleks moves his hands away, trying not to notice the way they’re stained red with this stranger’s- _James’_ \- blood, how if this guy dies right here in front of him, he’s going to be so, so angry.

It’s his first night back out in the wasteland away from the safety that Ramsey had offered, before Aleks got accused of being a traitor and not tossed but forced out here on his own. It was out here or dead, out here with James or tortured by Ramsey’s lankeys for information Aleks had because he isn’t a traitor. He’s been called a lot in his life, some too vulgar to mention, but a traitor might be worse; it means he isn’t trustworthy, means he metaphorically spat in the face of the person to whom he owns his life.

God, Jesus, Mother Mary, how did he fuck all of this up so spectacularly?

“Yeah, take your time,” he says, and James smiles weakly.

“Didn’t think it was this bad,” James admits, his hand tightening its grip on Aleks’. “The bullet went through, but, I figured it was probably just a scratch, you know. Not that it’d completely incapacitate me in front of a stranger, sorry about that, man.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Aleks briefly catches a glimpse of orange, yellow light separating through the broken windows of buildings across the way, and can’t recall how long it’s been. Hours, likely, since he sat here waiting for the day to break or for a bullet to split from a gun and imbed itself somewhere fatal, but he didn’t even sleep. He hasn’t slept, and the realisation has his eyelids growing heavier, his fingers twitching and bloodied, and James’ hand in his now covered in the same red. They need to sleep, and Aleks doesn’t trust himself to stay awake in case James has other intentions, or if he falls asleep right here with his wound and doesn’t wake up.

It’s a little terrifying, having to rely on someone again. Aleks was used to it with Ramsey and the others, and his days before that spent with Aron, and then Jordan and the others, but he hasn’t spent time in the wasteland in what feels like forever.

“You freaking out on me?” James asks, and it pulls Aleks back out of his thoughts and into his own head for a moment.

“No, no, sorry. I, uh, I’m just tired, I think. You know how it is,” he replies, and James nods like he understands. Maybe he does, but then he winces and Aleks does freak out a little bit. Internally, of course.

“Calm the fuck down, I’m fine.”

“You’re a bitch-”

“Wait,” James says, and Aleks’ breath halts in his throat. The sun is higher now, signalling early dawn, and as thankful as Aleks is for the safety of day, it means that other, not-so-friendly people will be awake. Them, and the men Ramsey has sent or hired to find Aleks.

“What?”

James gives Aleks a look, one that makes him more nervous than he was. Outside the door he can hear the shuffling of feet, maybe human, maybe not, but he finds himself reaching for the gun resting on James’ hip anyway. For safety, for protection, so if this is someone or something that’s going to kill them, Aleks can do his best to protect himself and James; James is too injured to fight, and he’s bleeding more than Aleks knows what to do with, taking this gun and going to investigate is the best he can do.

“You’re kidding,” James whispers, and through his pained expression, Aleks can see a glint of disbelieving amusement.

“Got a better idea?” Aleks hisses.

James closes his eyes with a deep exhale, licking at his dry, cracked lips before shaking his head. Worse comes to worse, Aleks dies and James is close to death, and it doesn’t really matter. Except it does, because holy fucking shit, Aleks does not feel like dying today. Or getting shot, which might be a worse fate than death. That hurts, that leaves permanent scars- at least if he’s dead, he’d be free of Ramsey and all the horrors of the wasteland.

The house they’re in is decaying, likely has been for years, and it offers protection to a small degree. James knew Aleks was in there from a mile away, and those raiders he took out probably did, too, and that’s not exactly a good sign. If the person or thing outside knows they’re in here, then they already have an advantage; granted, they’re not injured, or unarmed.

“You know how to use that?”

“Hello? ‘Course I know how to use a fucking gun,” Aleks retorts, and James raises an eyebrow in amusement. If the situation were different and he wasn’t currently close to bleeding out all over Aleks, maybe he would’ve shrugged, or laughed. Instead, a noise to their right outside the front door catches his attention, and Aleks hesitantly moves his head to look over.

He can see the toes of a person, or a recently turned ghoul, but they don’t move. James’ hand, the one that got bloodied when he grabbed Aleks’ hand, scrunches in the fabric of Aleks’ long-sleeved undershirt, holds him in place before he has the opportunity to impulsively move towards whoever or whatever it is.

Aleks’ clicks the safety off, wiping his sweaty, blood-covered hands on the thighs of his pants, and raises the gun more confidently. If they step inside he’ll shoot, at their foot or next to it, as a warning instead of instantly starting a fight. They could be a friendly or a companion of James’ that he failed to mention, or they could be here for Aleks, to put a bullet in his head and then probably in James’.

The thought doesn’t settle any of Aleks’ previous and ongoing nerves.

“Give ‘em a second,” James advises, voice a soft, hushed whisper. Aleks nods, even though he knows James might not see it, and lowers the gun enough to see them shuffle further forward.

“It’s a ghoul,” James says, then tugs again on Aleks’ arm in a desperate attempt to get his attention. “What are you doing? Shoot it!”

This feels too familiar, in a sudden realisation that halts Aleks’ breath before he can catch it. The old couch he’s leaning against, the ghoul, the man beside him telling him to kill it. Aleks has killed plenty of ghouls in his lifetime, so many so that he tries not to think about how difficult it is or how they might potentially be more human inside than anyone will ever know, but this is different. Not a bad different, but one that has him moving his finger away from the trigger, eyes widening as the ghoul comes into view, their hair barely there anymore if they ever had any to begin with, their skin rotting away where it’s coming away from their bones.

“Marchant? It’s just a ghoul, dude, you have to-”

Aleks knows he has to, knows that he can’t sit here with their only weapons and let them die because he can’t stop thinking about something that happened years ago. He needs to shoot it, just pull back the trigger and aim for the head, and not think about Aron dead with his head in Aleks’ lap. Ghouls are dead, they’re humans deep down but more monster, more rotting soul than anything human. It makes it easier to pull the trigger, though barely.

The ghoul drops in the doorway, Aleks staring to make sure it’s not going to move before he drops the gun beside him and moves back towards James.

_“Too much radiation, that’s what does it, and it’s not like many of them had much to live for anyway.”_

James’ face is pale, his hands pressed against his injury, and Aleks can’t help the spill of swears that come out when he sees. It’s manageable, meaning James will live. They’ll need medical help for it eventually, from a nearby group they can bargain with, or if Aleks can find something in the places around them that will do the trick. Really, they’ll have to get someone with experience to do what they can with it sometime in the near future, but anything is better than nothing. Or, Aleks has patched himself up more times than enough to know how to temporarily fix an injury like this.

A voice drifts into Aleks’ head, reminding him of what just happened, and of the guy he’s thinking about. It’s easy to get lost in your own head in the wasteland, and Aleks did it far too much in the past on his own to be familiar with it. Still, James moves a hand to press a few fingers to Aleks’ head, like he was going to do something else but figured some kind of touch was better than using only his words.

“Marchant? Hey, dude, are you listening?”

Aleks moves his head up, away from where he was examining the extent of James’ injuries, and opens his mouth to talk when James interrupts.

“What was that? Just then? You know the guy or something?”

He’s being sincere, curious but genuinely asking, and it soothes the shake in Aleks’ hands. He can’t remember when they started shaking or if they ever stopped, but they have now, as he stares at James in the distance spanning between them.

“It was nothing,” he says. “Just- had a friend once that turned into one of those things, that’s all.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Can we stop talking about it?” Aleks snaps, and James goes silent as he nods. “It’s, uh, it’s fine, dude. I killed it, done. Let’s focus on the fact you’re going to fucking bleed out all over me before we have the chance to get you to Novac.”

“That’s probably a good idea.” James shifts about, hissing, and Aleks has to admire how well he’s handling the pain. “Focus on me dying instead of the dangers of the world we’re living in… I like you.”

“Are you done being an asshole?”

James smiles at him and shrugs, like an asshole, because he knows Aleks wasn’t being serious. It’s annoying and endearing, and Aleks is awake enough to hope he doesn’t accidentally fall asleep and wake up to James being dead. That would suck a lot, and he’s gotten lucky running into someone so nice his first night back in the wasteland. It makes him feel guilty, for a moment, to think about what would happen to James if Ramsey knew he was helping Aleks, if they would kill him when they kill Aleks.

Aleks will tell him when he’s better, so if he wants to leave and part ways, he has the chance to. Maybe, Aleks doesn’t want to let him know, doesn’t want to go to Novac because he knows people there will be looking for him, but he can’t say it. It’s too difficult to put into words.

“What’s the plan here?” he asks, instead.

“Fix me up, I guess,” James suggests. “Then we go to Novac. I got some friends along the way I wouldn’t mind checking in with, too. If that’s cool with you.”

“It’s a plan, dude,” Aleks confirms, and shakes the hand James raises.

“A plan.”

The sun brightens the room weakly, drawing attention to how badly stained their clothes are with James’ blood, and to their hands clasped together, flaked with dark red. The sun lights up James’ face properly, in a way Aleks hasn’t yet seen, and Aleks stares for longer than necessary at the details in James' features.

Patch up James, visit James’ friends, part ways (re: ditch James) right before Novac… Aleks can manage that.


	2. the road blocked.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you alone?” they ask, and he catches a glimpse of the name carved into their knife as they raise it to his line of vision. Maybe it's meant to be threatening, but he was a billion times more concerned when it was pushed just below his Adam's apple.

 

 

 

 

 

> _“…everything is so fragile. I feel so lost. I live off secret, radiating, luminous rays that would smother me if I didn’t cover them with a heavy cloak of false certainties. God help me: I have no one to guide me and it’s dark again.”_

_— Clarice Lispector, from The Stream of Life_

 

 

* * *

 

 

**chapter two**

_the road blocked._

 

 

The day heats up significantly, beating down on Aleks as he slips in and out of houses. They’re empty for the most part, with nothing but rubbish and unidentifiable objects he doesn’t quite recognise; carcasses of old things from before the wasteland became the wasteland, most likely. No medical supplies, though, or anything that would do James any good. It seems like a waste, to have all these buildings sitting here collecting dust when there are people out there who need a place to stay.

Maybe when the world is better and there’s some kind of government system willing to make the changes no one else will; maybe if they had one, Aleks would be involved in a trial instead of unfairly hunted down for something he didn’t do. He’s careful as he explores, steps over anything that would make noise or attract attention, and pockets a few things he think could be useful. It’s not a lot, but he finds some pills and some old rag, and it’s better than nothing so he takes it. They’ll find a use for it, even if it isn’t for James.

Luckily, it’s early enough in the day that most raiders- and the people Ramsey sent after Aleks- are probably still asleep, or getting to chores to start their mornings. Ghouls and radroaches, as well as other dangers, are always present, but Aleks would take the wasteland dangers over the human dangers. He can survive a bit of radiation, he can't survive a fatal gunshot.

“Got anything?” James asks, his hand splayed against the wound, bleeding less but still soaking his jeans where they’re resting near his hip. Aleks found him some cloth earlier but it doesn’t seem to be doing much, which means they’ll need to do something about James’ wound before it’s too late for them to do anything.

“These?” Aleks replies, and pulls the slip of pills from his pocket, tossing them across the distance to where James catches them in his unoccupied hand. “It’s not much, but-”

“Thank you.”

Aleks glances up through his dirty fringe, half in surprise, half because he can. James looks up briefly because he must have seen Aleks do it, and he offers a smile that isn’t quite a smile when his eyes catch Aleks’. There’s a silent understanding there that Aleks won’t overanalyze, but he’s grateful for it all the same; it’s nice, to have something to concentrate on other than his own past mistakes, other than Ramsey and all his dead friends. It pushes him a little more to help James, and he won’t say it but he’s thankful for the company.

“Don’t worry about it, tell me if they work,” he says, and James nods as he reads the faded fine-print on the back of the packaging. It’s not a lot, except they don’t have the time or opportunity to be picky so it’ll have to be, or, Aleks hopes it’s enough until they can get James to his friends for help. He tries not to think about the inevitability of leaving, of dropping James off where he needs to be then cutting his losses and leaving him there. It’s easier not to think about it, like a lot of things are, but Aleks can’t push it from his mind.

James is a stranger who needs help, that’s all. He saved Aleks’ life so now Aleks is saving his, and it doesn’t need to be anything more than that. Just… get him to his friends then lead them to Novac, then leave before he finds a reason to stay.

It’s as simple as that.

“I found some water, if you’re thirsty,” James offers. “Not much, but it’ll have to do. Until we can find some more, or until it rains.”

Aleks considers it then looks up, takes an eyeful of the light blue of the cloudless sky, the sun bright enough to make his eyes sting a little. With that in mind, he looks over at James, who tries to hide his smile as he ducks his head back down.

“Yeah, I figured.”

“When was the last time it rained around here?” Aleks asks, because his curiosity gets the better of him.

“Three weeks, I think. I don’t know, I travel around a lot so I’m not the best person to ask, but my friends would probably know,” James says, exhaling a breath through clenched teeth as he shifts his weight to his other foot, ignoring his wound. “I’m guessing a fuckin’ long time. Ground around here is dry as hell.”

The ground outside is cracked, with whatever grass available browning under the sun. It’s a lot different to the scenery of where Aleks grew up, right on the water with plenty available. Even around Ramsey, they always managed to keep some plants alive and thriving, whether growing in pots inside or in a small garden plot that stretched a few metres across each way. It fed them, and that was good for them in the moment, but compared to this, that small barely-alive garden seems like a whole forest. Aleks isn’t sure how to describe it because words fail him as they often do, and he’s left staring at the dry earth at James’ feet before James clears his throat and gains his attention.

“It’ll rain some time, yeah?” he says, like he took Aleks’ silence as worry. Aleks nods, and James points lazily with his pinkie towards a row of hollowed out buildings. “There are a couple houses that way, if you wanna check them out. Might have water, or if you’re hungry, some food. I could go for a snack, you know.”

“Wait here?”

James nods and waves him off, Aleks’ hand slipping into his waistband as he grabs at his knife. It’s not too sharp and it’s getting old, but it’ll do the job if any ghouls decide to pop up while he’s searching. Some of them are harder to kill than others, particularly the ones that have been exposed to more radiation, and the ones that have had less time to adjust. Also known as, the ones that appear to be the most human, whose features and skin and hair haven’t yet begun to fade away. None of them are exactly human-like, other than Aron who even then was obviously a ghoul, but the more they are, the closer to when they turned, the harder Aleks finds it to kill them.

It reminds him of Aron, and of Dex, and the raiders he’s known who have killed people without giving them a chance. He’s never been that kind of person, that type of survivor, and the thought makes his stomach flip. He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to do if he ends up having to defend himself against a bounty hunter that’s been sent after him; Aleks is tough and he can hold his own in a fight; he can’t, however, find the strength to easily kill someone. That’s something he can’t ever see himself doing and he’s glad for it.

The houses are closer now, his shoes kicking at sand and his lungs trying to filter the dust he inhales. His hand grips his knife and holds it out in front of him for safety, pushing the first intact door open with the toe of his shoe, eyes darting around in the dark of the house for any sight of danger. It appears to be empty, though looks can be deceiving.

“Hello?” he tries, closing his eyes for a moment as he listens to the house creak under his weight.

No reply comes, or the scuttle of a roach’s feet, or the shuffle of a ghoul. Only silence, which is somehow more terrifying in the wasteland. It’s a bad sign and a good sign, and Aleks exhales the breath he was holding.

There’s an empty bag sitting on the counter, the inside coated in a fine layer of dust, and there are wrappers and rubbish huddled in a corner of the kitchen. It’s old, so there’s no need to worry about it, but it means the place has likely already been picked clean and there won’t be anything of substance left. It’s worth looking, still, but Aleks pushes back the small bloom of hope that was settled in his chest. It’s easier- _better_ \- to expect disappointment, he knows that, and tightens his fingers until they’re white around the hilt of his knife.

His other hand brushes through his hair, works through the small knots it’s been forced into. It would be in worse shape if he had slept, and he hasn’t rested or napped in what feels like ten years but has, in reality, been a little less than twenty-four hours. A long time, granted, to go without sleep, especially in the wasteland, but he doesn’t really have a choice. James hasn’t slept either, and the gunshot wound he has above his hip is a million times worse than the cut on Aleks’ knee. It’s been so long he’d forgotten it was there, but the skin stretches slightly as he takes a step over a large stain of old blood in the carpet and he hisses, instinctively presses his empty hand against it.

When James is done and taken care of, he’ll worry about his knee. It’s not desperate, and that’s a relief in itself because he’s not sure what he would’ve done if it was as bad as James’ own injury. They’d be useless, unable to move or find what they need, and the thought, or realisation, is more than a little unnerving.

Aleks makes his way to the bathroom, the door hanging off its hinges and the cabinet above the sink locked. It’s a chain that is going to be difficult to break open, but Aleks takes it as a welcome sight; it’s better than nothing, that’s for sure.

Under the sink is empty apart save for a few pill bottles and first aid kits that he checks in case. There isn’t anything in there really worth holding onto, so he shoves them back a bit rougher than necessary. Admittedly, he’s more concerned about infection, especially where they are, and it’s making him irritated that everywhere they’ve checked has already been wiped clean. Raiders, likely, or nearby settlement scavengers who were sent out to find supplies in close, unoccupied areas. The knowledge that someone out there has or had what Aleks needed doesn’t help, even with the thought in mind that it’s possible they had just as much use for it all as he did.

He sighs in defeat and instinctively tries to close the door behind him on his way out before giving up. The house and surrounding areas continue to wallow in silence, and Aleks hopes it stays like that until he and James have the chance to patch themselves up and leave.

Outside, the sun is battering the ground, destroying what little chance the earth had of sprouting any grass. Aleks is thankful for his shoes, and for the protection of his clothing, because the last thing he needs right now is having to worry about sunburn or heatstroke. Anything that would put him further out of submission than he already is, with his knee and his lack of a healthy sleep schedule.

“Anything?” James calls out, a bottle of water crinkled in his grasp, and Aleks can only shake his head in disappointment.

They both appear to have been unsuccessful in their search, other than the medicine and rag Aleks found earlier, and the water James has. It’s a pretty weak result considering their effort, but it isn’t any better than Aleks had expected to get from this place. It’s a ghost town, already picked clean years and years ago, and sitting empty and rundown because of it

“You should rest up,” James uncaps the water, passing it to Aleks with a pitiful smile that Aleks returns as he raises the bottle to his lips. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, real prize yourself there, James,” Aleks manages, eyebrows drawing together as he hands the bottle back.

It’s getting later in the day, and despite the quiet, Aleks can’t shake his nerves. Something doesn’t seem right, but he can’t be sure if it’s just because it’s been so long since he was out here in the wasteland, with someone or on his own. He got so used to being safe back at Ramsey’s settlement, not having to deal with raiders or ghouls, or the ever-present dangers this world holds at every twist and turn. It’s quiet, he knows that, and James glances around suspiciously, too, like he can feel the same thing in the air that Aleks can.

“Storm,” James mutters, more to himself than to Aleks. He notices Aleks’ gaze on him and points to the sky, where a grey cloud is sweeping slowly towards them; it’ll hold rain, at least, but that doesn’t mean it’s exactly a welcome sign.

“We should probably go inside,” Aleks says, tries to hide the disappointment seeping into his words. It’s been a long time since he saw rain, he just wishes it was under best circumstances. An oncoming storm would be a lot nicer to see if he wasn’t already worried about how he and James were going to make it out of here and start the trek to Novac, or how they were supposed to fix James up temporarily when they can barely find the cloth they need to cover it over. It’ll get infected soon enough, as will Aleks’ knee, and no amount of rain will help with that.

“I spotted a place over there,” James motions towards a lone house sitting amongst the wreckage of what was once a few other buildings, its roof intact unlike the house they’re currently holed up in. “Yeah?”

Aleks nods, sweeps a hand towards it so James will know to take the lead. James doesn’t move, instead tightens his hand on its grip around his hip, fingers splayed across his wound, and Aleks spots the telltale signs of pain even as James ducks his head to hide it. The uncertain curve of his mouth, his quiet, unsteady breaths, and his half-squinted eyes, focused away from the bright sun.

“C’mon,” Aleks says, James looking up at him unsurely as he picks up James’ free arm, settles it around his neck, Aleks’ own arm sliding around James’ back. “It’s not far, walk.”

James shuffles the majority of his weight onto Aleks, who slows so James can keep up. He’s bleeding again, his feet paused as he stares at his hand with the lines of his palm outlined with red. It looks worse than it had, and Aleks stares nervously before James meets his gaze. They’ll find a way to fix it, or Aleks can trek ahead to find James’ friends and hope they don’t kill him and James doesn’t die on his own for those few days. It’s too risky, for now they need to focus on what’s happening in the moment, and not what they’re going to do when the storm passes. Bit by bit, hour by hour; that’s the best way to do things in the wasteland.

Aleks tightens his grip in case James stumbles or falls, taking care to not accidentally slid his hand further towards James’ wound. Neither of them will say they’re worried, not right yet, so Aleks doesn’t mention his own injury, or their lack of food, or the fact the distance between them and the house doesn’t seem to get any shorter even as they walk. Granted, they’ve slowed down significantly, and the wind brought by the storm has begun to throw sand and its dust up into the air.

“You good?”

James manages a strained, “Yep,” as he walks, his footsteps getting more stretched out than the slow shuffle they were before.

“Thought you said you were a mercenary,” Aleks says, because he doesn’t know what else to say and the silence is hard to deal with. “Shouldn’t you be used to like, getting shot up and stuff?”

“I’m usually the one doing the shooting, Marchant. By the way, what kind of fucking name is that? You sound ridiculous.”

“Alright, _James_.”

“James is a perfectly normal name.”

“If you’re from pre-war, maybe,” Aleks replies, and doesn’t bother masking his amusement. "But, you're not, and it's a stupid name anyway, dude. Makes you sound fucking... dumb." 

James stops, dragging Aleks to a halt beside him. They’re close enough to feel the warmth of each other’s breath, smell the dirt and the blood, and Aleks inhales as though he doesn’t mind. He can’t remember the last time he was in this close contact with someone, even all the years with Ramsey he was always alone, always on his own keeping his distance. He can see the laughter lines in James’ skin, the gentle beginnings of crows feet at the outer corners of his eyes, and where he hasn’t been able to shave in a few days. He’s a mess, but Aleks considers the fact he himself probably looks a lot worse, pale and hungry, tired, covered in dirt and sand from where he fell over yesterday trying to evade Ramsey’s men, and gives it up.

He directs his eyes over to the house, now much closer, and slowly separates himself from James.

“I’m gonna check it out,” he says, and James looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t. Just stares unsure instead. “Don’t move. Seriously, fucking  _don't_.”

James rolls his eyes and leans in on himself now that Aleks isn't there to help hold him up, his free hand offering a lackluster wave goodbye. It's jokingly, and Aleks offers one back in a weak attempt at mocking it, earning him an unimpressed glare. It's easy to fall into this with James, much easier than Aleks has found it in the past to make friends or talk to people; considering the situation, and that they have no choice but to trust one another, Aleks is grateful that they get along. He can think of worse things than not liking the man he's stuck with, but they mostly include death. Naturally.

The house is quiet, the decaying stairs and porch creak under Aleks’ weight, his feet carefully navigating their way to the front door. He glances back towards James, for reassurance that he doesn't get, before slowly pushing open the door with a loud squeak.

At first look, it's relatively clean, if you ignore the dust and dirt and other things the wind has blown in from the wasteland. Leaves, rubbish and packages, and Aleks kicks them out of his way as he ventures further inside. There's a couch, far from clean but with a hole-ridden blanket hanging over the back that would probably do a good job of hiding the mess on the cushions. It'd be alright to sleep on, or to try and patch James up on.

Aleks tucks that thought to the back of his mind and walks towards the kitchen, holding his breath in anticipation of disappointment. They'd be lucky to find anything out here in the way of medical supplies, but Aleks is willing to try, for James and for himself.

He drags a drawer open and swears, voice naturally deepening as he keeps quiet, as it falls to the ground. The contents, what little of them, scatter in ten different separate directions, Aleks kneeling to try and pile them up as quickly as possible into his palm. It's nothing worth taking, some caps and old tape, and the rust that's fallen off a long gone tool or weapon. He has half a mind to throw them onto the floor and call it a day, his exhausted, dehydrated body running on nothing but adrenaline and the need to stay awake.

Aleks leaves the drawer where it is and drops the stuff into it, rubbing his hands on the thighs of his pants to clean them.

“Stay where you are,” a voice demands as he stands, and he inhales too sharp as a blade is pressed to his throat.

They're not sent from Ramsey, or someone who saw the ransom and decided they could use the reward, because if they were, he would've been slumped over and dead the moment they saw him. It's not exactly much better that they've decided to do this instead, or that they haven't been sent from Ramsey; he has a feeling the faded white of these tiles won't stay that colour for much longer.

“I don't have anything, dude, you're wasting your time,” he tries, and someone fists a handful of his hair and tugs it back painfully, making him stumble back into whoever is standing behind him.

“We're going to ask you some questions and you're going to answer them, okay?” the voice continues, and Aleks can't focus on much but James outside, unaware and injured. Neither of them are in exactly a great position to be fighting anyone off, let alone wasteland scum willing to kill someone for something as small as a ring on their finger or a drop of water. Unless they've already got him, which makes Aleks’ heart stop unnaturally from the sheer dread he feels about finding out.

“Yeah, okay, sure, fucking whatever,” he says, through gritted teeth, tries not to let his casual facade slip through to the worry hidden underneath.

“Are you alone?” they ask, and he catches a glimpse of the name carved into their knife as they raise it to his line of vision. Maybe it's meant to be threatening, but he was a billion times more concerned when it was pushed just below his Adam's apple.

“Right now, in life, all of the above?” he manages.

They sigh, actually sigh, and man, he's going to be so actually pissed if he gets killed right now.

“Listen here, kid. I don't wanna hurt you, we wanna get some things and be on our way, but we can't do that or help you if you aren't willing to cooperate. So, I'll ask again and you have one chance to answer before I slit your throat then go and do the same to your little pal outside. You know, the injured one?” Aleks can't see them, but he can imagine their sneer, their lips curled, the blankness in their eyes. “He’ll die anyway, with or without you; we'd be doing him a favour.”

The knife is back against his throat, the blade sharp and hot to his skin, and he instinctively goes to jerk away when the hand is back in his hair, pulling so hard at his scalp that his eyes water.

“Are. You. Alone?”

_Fuck._

The knife is moved slightly away, before the tip is stabbed clumsily but calculated below his right collarbone, piercing the flesh rather painfully. His eyes water so much he has to blink frantically to will away the tears, which only worsens when the knife is forced in further, sharp but dull enough to not go in clean.

He screams, a mix between his natural deepness and an uncharacteristically, in pain, high-pitched shriek. James will no doubt hear it, come to investigate and find Aleks here like this, pathetically at a loss of what to do.

“Are you-”

Aleks hears their body hit the floor before he registers the sound of a gun, the click of a chamber, the ringing in his left ear. That panics him enough to distract him from everything else, his shaking fingers pressed to the side of his head to make sure he wasn't injured, before he hears James’ voice, far away but close like Aleks is underwater. He blinks, and blinks, and James sways into his vision, eyes staring into his and saying words that Aleks can't focus on yet.

“Marchant?” Aleks hears, and wonders how many times James had to say it before he heard it. James is a mess, too, sweaty from the heat and the sun, his eyes wide with worry, hands bloodied where they're gripping Aleks’ upper arms tight.

“James,” Aleks says, and it's meant to be posed like a question but instead comes out as a statement

James sighs, relieved, and Aleks can pinpoint the exact moment he sees the bleeding cut peeking through the top of Aleks’ shirt. He pauses, and glances at Aleks trying to gauge some kind of reaction or explanation, before he swears, soft and breathed as though it's not a swear; Aleks hates this, actually, the being useless and needing to be saved. It's been a long time since he needed anyone else's help, even in Ramsey's settlement he was always fending for himself.

He needs to let that go, really. Thinking about everything in terms of relations to the past is only going to hurt, more than his ear echoing every sound or his scraped up knee or the dug-out wound sitting near his collarbone, where he thinks he remembers the sternum being. The past will hurt forever, like he'll miss Aron when he sees the simplest things or how all these years later he still wakes up sweating from dreams where he was shot and left to die, except in the dreams Ramsey never finds him, no one ever does.

“Thanks,” he manages, and James laughs, the humour forced and amusement drained. It's empty, sad, and Aleks mumbles, ‘stop,’ forces James to look at him instead of the extent of their combined injuries.

“You left the gun with me,” James says, modestly. “I heard you screaming.”

Aleks moves a hand to James’ hip and James freezes, the area bleeding again. The movement hurt his wound even more, and Aleks isn't mad, but his eyebrows draw together and he grinds his teeth a little. He doesn't know how to be optimistic about this, not knowing the kind of trouble they'll be facing the entire time to find James’ friends, and with their bodies bruised and battered far beyond the point of needing proper medical help.

He doesn't know what to do, and it makes his hands shake.

“You didn't have to, so, thanks,” Aleks insists, and this time James only nods and whispers something that sounds like, ‘anytime, dude.’

They take a few moments, staring at the dead bodies on the ground before Aleks kneels to pat them down, feel their pockets for things. James watches, only looks away when Aleks shifts his gaze to James’, let's the awkward silence build while refusing to do anything to fill it. They're still strangers, but Aleks can see himself getting used to this for a few weeks, until he can point James in the direction of Novac.

James saved him; he didn't have to, but he did.

“We should fix you up,” James says, interrupting Aleks staring too hard, too long at a blurry photo of a woman he found in one of the raider’s pockets. He can't take his eyes off it or argue either, until James gently slides it out of his hand and pulls him up to stand despite how much it must hurt. “They'll have some bags around here somewhere, I'll bet. Dumbasses were probably camping out in here before we got here.”

The hand tightened around Aleks’ bicep doesn't move for a moment, until Aleks notices that James is still and he's slightly hunched over, his free hand pressed to the openness in his flesh. Aleks pushes back his guilt, tries not to blame himself for James reopening his wound, and gently unwraps James’ hand from his arm. He takes it, squeezes reassuringly because he's not sure what else to do.

They're a mess, a wreck, and the wasteland has a habit of beating people down but holy shit- Aleks can't remember ever seeing anything or anyone look so pale in his life.

“That’s not looking great, to be honest,” he winces, and James glares at him.

They don't speak further, James inhaling with a whistle and walking towards where the bathroom probably is, Aleks getting tugged behind. There should be a medicine cabinet if they get lucky, or at least something in the raiders bags that will help; gauze, pills, a heat pack. If they're lucky, they'll find that, and Aleks has never had the best luck. Considering where he is, hunted down and accidentally dragging James down with him and into this mess, luck probably won't be on his side for a long, long time. Karma will, he won't deny that.

With James leaning against the frame of the doorway, Aleks slips past him into the room. There's an old crib, which makes him freeze where he is for long enough for James to clear his throat at him, and the body of a dead ghoul in the corner makes him tighten his hands into fists. He doesn't want to do this, not with more important things to focus on, not with James spilling a couple gallons of blood into his clothes and the floor, and Aleks biting the insides of his cheeks to distract from his own injuries. He's bleeding, too, but not a lot. Thankfully.

“Bags,” James says, and Aleks turns to follow where he's gesturing. A pile of stuff in the opposite corner of the room to him, backpacks and things left on the ground loose, and objects that look promising.

James steps cautiously into the room, catching Aleks as he moves towards the bag. They sway gently as Aleks comes to a stop, then shifts to look at James, at the fingers pinching the sleeve of his shirt to keep him in place where he is. His features harden into confusion, James not letting go, and Aleks reaches his hand up to softly remove James’ hands from his arm. There's something unreadable in his face, something that makes Aleks stand there and wait for James to explain what this is.

“It hurt?” James asks, and Aleks breathes again.

“Should it?” he says, and forces his naturally defensive tone away. “Kinda, yeah. More worried about you like, dying, though,” he continues, and it's nonsense, it's mumbled words, but James nods like he'll accept that as an answer for now.

For now, because they'll have to talk about this. About Aleks getting into trouble and James not leaving him behind, and how lucky they were to get out of all this alive so far. They might not be so fortunate in the future, that's what they'll need to discuss; what happens if James’ wound gets infected or Aleks’ does, or they can't find food or supplies or more water, or those guys have friends who are going to come looking for them sooner or later. All of those things seem like valuable talking points for sometime later.

Aleks walks shakily over to the bags, rolling them over to find where they're done up so he can sort through the contents. There's a bag, he can feel from the weight of it in his hands, and a careful glance inside reveals some containers, a faded red rag, and other things Aleks can't yet identify. James leans over him, casting a shadow as the sun begins to force its way inside, sunset a few hours off. Aleks holds the bag out behind him, waits for James to grab it so he can examine the pile of stuff that was hidden in the corner.

“Gauze, or something shitty like it,” James notes, and Aleks nods even though he's not sure if James can see. “Pretty much the only thing in here worth taking. Other than some food, if you're hungry.”

As if on cue, Aleks’ stomach growls.

“Here, Marchant,” James says, with a laugh. He's holding a bar that's been tucked into something to keep it safe, and Aleks mumbles a thank you as he unwraps it.

Aleks chews at it, tries his best to ignore how bland it is to his dry tongue. It's not too bad, though pales in comparison to the food he grew up with and what they were rationed out at Ramsey's. To his hungry, desperate stomach, it might as well the nicest thing he's ever tasted; it isn't, but he's starving, so it's better than better, better than the average it is. It's this or roasted radroach meat, and with that in mind, he bites another piece to crunch between his back teeth as he sorts through the dead raider's possessions.

He scrapes together some bandage, a half drunk bottle of water, more bland food, a small blanket, and medicine, that isn't plentiful but is a greater alternative to none at all. He says that and passes them to James, who gives him a weak, grateful smile in thanks, then takes the bottle of water Aleks offers to help him wash it down.

“Marchant-”

“Aleksandr, actually,” Aleks swallows, and his smile wavers slightly as it meets James’.

“Pardon?”

“My name, it's Aleksandr. _Aleks_. Marchant's my last name.”

James’ expression softens into something Aleks can't read before James leans towards him and offers Aleks his hand to shake. Aleks is sitting and James is barely standing, but he still takes it, shakes it firmly with his eyes not leaving James’.

“Well, Aleksandr,” James says, with his lips tucked into a tired grin. He's got the medicine and bandages in his free hand, slicked with his own blood, and his eyes wander down to Aleks’ injury, his lips thinning. With concern, maybe. “Wanna get cleaned up?”

Aleks, in anticipation of proper rest and a few hours worth of sleep, nods. He can't describe how much his body aches with exhaustion, how the world is swaying under his feet as he goes to stand, his stomach slightly full and his eyes heavy. They _hurt_ , with a burn he tries to rub out of them, before James grabs his wrists and forces him to stop; Aleks can't remember the last time someone cared about him, not since at least those few short years at The Hub or his time with Aron. Even with Ramsey, he didn't know if that was friendship, or if Aleks was just a good hand to keep around.

This with James, however, is- probably- more than necessity, more than them sticking together because they have to. James could've killed him if he wanted to, when Aleks was shaking and small and curled up on himself in that house in the middle of the night on his own. Like his whole world hadn't just collapsed on him and was actively trying to kill him, like the wasteland wasn't the kind of place you killed a few raiders for a boy you don't know. Everyone has a reason for saving someone; Aleks might've reminded James of someone he used to know, or James is a genuinely kind-hearted person who wanted to do the right thing.

Either way, Aleks is grateful.

He lets himself be led by James, doing his best to ignore the dead bodies barely hidden from view in the kitchen, sitting on that dirty couch on the blanket as James dabs at the pierced skin near his sternum. His hands are tight where they grip the cushions despite how gentle James is, his soft hands barely touching but present and cleaning, getting rid of the sting of the dull blade and replacing it with the sting of cleanliness.

“You tell me if it hurts?” James whispers, not on purpose. Even he appears surprised when his voice comes out so quiet.

“You should, uh- you should let me take a look at yours,” Aleks says, _properly_ says. No whispering, no careful touches at a wound, no caution. “Pop some of those pills and I'll give it a clean, make sure it's not infected or something.”

James stills when Aleks unclasps his hands from their grip on the couch, like the idea of having to show it freaks him out a little. He's doing his best impression of a deer caught in the headlights, before he drops his hands from Aleks and gives a consenting mumble. The rags and bandages find temporary rent on the ground next to Aleks’ feet as James untucks the corner of his shirt from his jeans and slides it up slowly to reveal the mess hidden beneath. Near his hip, beside his bellybutton, a red, veined wound that must hurt more than he's letting on.

“Fuck, James,” Aleks manages, and he becomes aware of his own heart beating so loud he can hear it in his ears. How are they supposed to fix this? They'll need more than medicine and bandages, and it's a few days trip to Novac to get what they need.

And, Aleks has no plans to follow James there. Too many people there that could notice him, even if the curiosity of knowing if James is alright almost makes Aleks want to stick around until after they've found him someone to help. His own knee will heal on its own eventually, and James has already cleaned his deep cut so he doesn't need to worry about that unless it doesn't start to get any better. If it doesn't, he'll pay out some lowlife, super unqualified doctor to pump him full of stuff until he feels better; it'll be pricey, but he's used to how the wasteland works.

“Bad?” James asks, and the laugh that leaves his mouth is forced and pained. Aleks reaches a hand out to prod at it, with no intention of getting close enough to actually touch it. James flinches, as if expecting the hurt before Aleks could even consider inflicting it.

“It's… not good,” Aleks winces. “Blood poisoning, I think?”

“You had it before?”

“Uh, something like that, yeah.”

He doesn't know where to start, but James peels off the zip-up he's wearing over his shirt, and sits down to allow Aleks to examine it. There are red lines fading into nothing in James’ skin, the skin around the gunshot red and puffy, and it's so genuinely bad that Aleks can't begin to understand how James has managed with this for so long. Walking, handling the heat and the rub of his own clothes against it, shooting those raiders after rushing to save Aleks; God, it's so, so bad, and Aleks can't keep his hands still as he brushes his finger against James’ hip.

James hisses, as though the simple touch hurt everywhere, and Aleks offers a brief, apologetic look in return. All they can do for now is clean it up and hope for the best, meaning wipe away the worst of it and pray that James wakes up tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. And, that he's physically capable of making the trip to find his friends who he's certain can help.

It doesn't look good, and Aleks almost can't drag his attention off it no matter how hard it is to see it. His knee throbs subconsciously, as though it knows it has no reason to complain about an ache when James has been walking around with this like nothing was wrong, like he had nothing more than a bug bite there. This is a lot worse, so much so that its paralysing in a way, Aleks’ breath slowly finding its way back out of his mouth.

He cleans it up as best he can, with the rag and some water, and medicine forced into James’ fists because it'll only get worse if he doesn't take anything. James takes it with a small sip of water, grinding his teeth to disguise his obvious pain as Aleks rips the bandage to apply; it's hazardous and clumsy, but it's better than nothing.

“We should probably sleep.” James avoids eye-contact and Aleks bites his bottom lip before he agrees.

-

“Can I still be macho and cool if I cry right now?” Aleks whispers, into the night, into the silence, waiting for it to reach James.

James scoffs and says, ungenuinely, “Yeah, but don't expect me to comfort you or something, man.”

Aleks nods, and his throat is raspy as he replies, “Wouldn't dream of it. Thanks.”

Still, when he stares at the roof, at a small peak of the sky visible through a crack, he wishes he had something other than himself. He thinks about Ramsey, about being seventeen and screaming his throat raw as he pushed desperate hands to his side and the bullet no longer there, and how he can barely remember being saved by Ramsey because it's such a blur. And, he thinks about Ramsey not trusting him after all the things they've been through, and his eyes burn against his will.

He thinks about Aron, too. That will always hurt, with everything these days reminding him of all the things he didn't do, and his friend dead in his lap, and the man he murdered too late facedown a metre away. Aleks won't quite call it trauma, but survivor's guilt, maybe; that he didn't deserve to live and he did, and that Aron deserved life more than anyone and Aleks didn't do anything to help. Guilt, survivor's and just in general, wells tears in his eyes, has him reaching up a had to push his hair back like it'll stop the onslaught.

“...Aleksandr?”

“Yeah?” he croaks.

There's a pause, and Aleks can hear James shuffle closer, can feel his body heat before he can see him in the dark. There's a hand on his shoulder, a thumb rubbing comfortingly but unsurely, and he can't help it, the crying and desperate attempts at trying to breathe.

Coolness? Gone. Machoness? Fuckin’ obliterated.

“You're good, Aleks. You're alright,” James says, words wrapped in a hot breath. “Breathe, just _breathe_.”

James’ other hand tangles its fingers through Aleks’ hair, careful of where it hurts from earlier, and Aleks instinctively moves closer, burrows his face in the thick fabric of James’ shirt. He tries not to go red from embarrassment as James breathes slow, says something calm and comforting, arm bent awkwardly to keep twirling in Aleks’ hair.

“Sleep.”

So, Aleks does; James' fingers barely tangled in his hair, their breaths slow and synced as Aleks drifts off. Nightmares will still come, no doubt, but not having to be alone is a blessing in itself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is shorter but chapter 4 is!! quite long. i've started chapter 5 and this is currently sitting at 25k+ so...... pray for me. chapter 5/6 are my favourites and i can't wait for you to read them :)
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated, and i hope you're enjoying this so far <3
> 
> \- rachel.


	3. rest.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where were you? Before this?”
> 
> Aleks glances up, brushing his fingers clean on the outside of his jacket sitting in his lap. He swallows slowly, and stumbles over the words he wants to say in his head for too long.

 

 

> “…a sense of the bitterest regret, a nostalgia for things we never knew…”

— Angela Carter, from _Burning Your Boats: The Collected Short Stories; “Black Venus”_

 

* * *

 

 

**chapter 3**

_rest._

 

Aleks tightens his hand where it's gripping James’ waist, fingers pressed together above where his hip is to avoid accidentally brushing or touching his wound. It's looking better, two days worth of medicine and bandages gone. They managed to find clean clothes in a house they passed, and James’ wound stopped bleeding long enough ago that they haven't spent too much time worrying about it.

Instead, they focus on traveling, on walking as far as they can during the day to avoid facing ghouls or other dangers at night. James can't remember exactly where his friends are, but they're somewhere nearby now, or at least a few miles away. It's not a long way to walk, not after the days of walking they've already done, and the soreness of their muscles, the dryness of their mouths and lips and skin. It's rough, and it's hard, and it'd be worse if they weren't so close to where they needed to be.

“Stop,” James says, and Aleks pauses where he is to help James sit on a nearby barrel.

He's careful of his injury, almost blinded by the sun as he peeks up at it through his fringe falling across his face, and James closes his eyes against it. Smarter than Aleks, but still mutters and curses about how bright and warm it is today. They're lucky- if that can even be said- to have made it this far, but there's no guarantee that they'll find James’ friends, and that doesn't sit well in Aleks’ belly.

There's a building close by, and Aleks looks at James to suggest he go and check it out when they hear a noise from inside said building. They collectively turn towards it, Aleks’ hand slicking his hair back, James looking over at Aleks in muted worry. It could be James’ friends, or it could be ghouls, or raiders, or unfriendlies from a close settlement, or someone looking for Aleks. James doesn't know about that, but Aleks assumes if he did he'd share the same quickening heart rate and the same clammy hands.

“Stay here,” he whispers, and James reaches out in the small distance between them from where he's sitting to wrap his fingers gently around Aleks’ wrist.

James doesn't need to say anything for Aleks to know what he means, so he nods, and settles his hands over James’ for a moment before softly peeling it away. James sighs, like he's tired of this and the wasteland, and like they might not die in a few minutes if the people or things in that house aren't looking to make friends. For both their sakes, Aleks almost gets on his knees to pray to whatever is up there that they make it through this week, or until they find James’ friends. He doesn't literally get on the ground, but inhales and exhales deep, and hopes someone's God hears it and blesses them.

Aleks removes his knife from where it was sitting hidden in the waistband of his pants, wrapped in that brown leather. James has the gun tucked into a rip of fabric on the inside of his jacket for if they need it, or if Aleks happens to get in trouble, again, and needs help, again. It's nice, comforting, even, to be aware of it, and of James’ close presence. Worst case scenario, whoever or whatever Aleks runs into isn't the type to wait around or ask questions, and he ends up dead before James knows Aleks isn't alone. It's possible, and Aleks can see his own anxieties reflected in James’ gaze.

“Come back and get me if there's no one there?” James asks, though it's more of a demand; a reminder to do it more than it is a polite question.

“Will do,” Aleks replies, and rolls back his shoulders a few times in anticipation of some kind of fight. There's no guarantee there'll be one, but he knows the wasteland well, and there is almost always some kind of battle around every corner.

His knife is clutched tight, his other hand raised short near his chest, and he steps aside from the door and pushes it open with a loud creak. It could be the wind, if he'd heard it and been unaware of someone- _him-_ outside. No one appears from inside and there's no voices or squeak of shoes against the floor, so he decides to venture inside, using his shoulder to force the door open. Silence follows, and his ears buzz with the quiet as they try to pick at the slightest of sounds; there's nothing, and there's no signs of anyone living here, either.

Aleks almost laughs, because his body is sore and tired and screaming, and the sooner they can settle down for the evening, the sooner he can sleep. He doesn't lower his knife in case, and presses further into the house to check every room. They're all empty, apart from trash and rubble, and evidence of past residents that are hopefully long gone by now.

The bedroom has a bed, settled on the floor in the corner. It's a makeshift one, with dusty blankets and pillows, but it's better than the nights they've spent lying in the sand outside or on the bare floor of another house. A bed like this is a blessing, and Aleks’ body aches with how much he wants to get James and then sleep; get to have a good night's rest, his first in too long. It reminds him of home, with Ramsey, which both hurts and doesn't.

 _Crack_.

Aleks can nearly feel the way the air shifts, how it steals his breath halfway to his throat and how the world sways as he runs. He moves before he knows he's moving, purely on instinct, because he left the gun with James and having to use it isn't a good sign, it means something bad, really bad, has happened, and-

“James!” he yells, barely out the door.

He drops his knife on accident, and doesn't have time to even glance down at where it went before he's kicking up dust around him, his leg muscles straining as they move his through the terrain of sand. It's hard to run on but he doesn't think about it, doesn't think at all until he's red in the face and heaving for breath, and James is standing there next to a body with the gun still hot in his hands.

A raider, their own gun laying on the ground next to their dead, outstretched hand. The bullet James shot nicked their neck, which sprayed James’ shirt impressively with their thick blood. He doesn't appear too shook up over the recent event, even as Aleks’ heart threatens to beat so hard it might run out of his chest and take his life with it. He can breathe, but only just, in quickened, deep breaths that don't seem as though they're doing much.

“Asshole,” James says, like it's no big deal. It's a big deal. “Came up behind me when I wasn't paying attention. He might have friends, you already check the house?”

“Uh, holy shit?” is all Aleks can say, a hand tugging at his dirty hair as he looks at the raider's body. James is a mercenary, so he's killed plenty of people before and he knows how to survive, it shouldn't worry Aleks as much as it does. He can't help it, the panic that easily slipped in the second he recognised that gunshot in the house. If James dies, Aleks is all alone, he's alone and James is dead, and what the fuck is he supposed to do then? Keep walking, find James’ friends and explain, hope they don't recognise his face from all those wanted posters with big rewards?

James isn't so pale now, not like days ago with his bleeding wound. His hair is dry and curled, forced up into a bun that is failing to hold after everything they've been through since they met, and before that, too. They've both seen better days, but considering all of it, they don't look as bashed up and bruised as Aleks feels. They're messy and covered in dried blood, dust, and sand, with it coated in thick layers in their hair and unpleasant on their skin. But, considering all of it, they don't look too bad, really.

“Dude, you-”

“You good?” James asks, and his tone is so sincere that Aleks can only weakly nod.

“Are you?” Aleks questions, watching as James kneels to pat down the raider's pockets. He comes up empty, other than some caps, but doesn't seem too disappointed.

“Wouldn't mind getting out of this sun, it's hurting my fuckin’ eyes,” he says, squinting up at the bright sky. “Inside?”

Aleks accepts the gun James passes him, sticky with the stranger's blood but otherwise okay. They'll need them out here and it doesn't hurt for both of them to be armed with a weapon, instead of James with his gun and Aleks with his old knife he's now lost. He wipes the nozzle of the gun with his shirt, doing his best to disregard the lump in his throat; he lost the knife, the one Eddie gave him and he hasn't let go of since, and he doesn't know what he'll do if he can't find it.

James walks ahead, with a brief glance back at Aleks following behind him. He makes it up the stairs and into the house while Aleks is metres behind, eyes scanning the ground and feet kicking at sand and dirt to find his knife. It can't have gone far, probably slipped underneath the stairs or bounced off the ground and is lying on the floor inside the entrance to the house. That's if he's lucky, and it's a recurring theme that he is the exact opposite to that. Still, it has to be nearby somewhere, there's absolutely nowhere else for it to go other than close to where he's standing right now.

He sees a glint of something reflecting the sun and falls to his knees to be able to reach where it's hidden under the first step to the house, creaky, aged wood held centimetres above the ground. The tip of it nick's his finger, urging a deep, gravelly, “Fuck!” from his mouth, and no doubt attracting James’ attention.

It's his knife, with the small 'E’ carved into the hilt, and he examines it nostalgically for a few moments before sliding it back into the brown leather of its pouch. His heart continues to run a marathon in his chest at the concept of losing it, but he's significantly calmer so he won't focus on it for much longer. He has it, James is alive and uninjured, and they have a house- a _bed-_ to spend the night in. It's the best situation they've been in for days, and Aleks wants to appreciate how great it feels to have this, even if just for the night.

“Aleksandr,” James calls from the doorway, close but his voice wavering on concern. “Alright?”

“Dropped some of my shit,” Aleks explains, accepting the hand James offers to help him to his feet. He's closer now after taking a few steps to stand on the bottom stair, and he's strong enough to pull Aleks up to a standing position.

“Found some food, if you're hungry,” James says, and Aleks doesn't hesitant with his smile, accepting the warm expression he gets from James in return.

James found some old tins in a cupboard, with a reassuring talk about how they were more than likely left behind by some raider's who forgot about them. Aleks waits for James to open them and for them to be ridiculously inedible, but they're decent, or at least decent comparable to the idea of eating radroach or something somewhat worse. James is right about the left behind thing, pulling open a drawer to reveal shattered pieces of armour, a slightly worrying sight that doesn't soothe any of Aleks’ previous nerves.

They're careful lighting a fire, slowly roasting the contents of the tin before stomping it out and instantly missing its warmth. They pick hesitantly at the food, holding the tins in their palm of their hand lined with a rag to help with the heat. It's not too bad, and Aleks’ stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud as he stares at what little he has left, most of it already gone because he was so hungry he would've eaten absolutely anything put in front of him.

James laughs, eating what's left of the food in his tin before closing the lid and placing it next to him. They sat James’ flashlight in a glass cup they found to give them some light, or a little amount that would be better than sitting in the darkness trying to navigate their way around their small meals. It's better than nothing, and Aleks eats the rest of his food so fast he barely has time to chew, his joints aching with exhaustion and reminding him how badly he wants to sleep.

“Where were you? Before this?”

Aleks glances up, brushing his fingers clean on the outside of his jacket sitting in his lap. He swallows slowly, and stumbles over the words he wants to say in his head for too long. He isn’t sure if he should lie, or if in situations like this, it’s better to tell the truth. James deserves some fragment of something that isn’t false, at least. So, Aleks shrugs, and watches his breath go white in the air before he flickers his eyes up briefly enough to meet James’ curious eye.

“I was, uh, with a group. A settlement of sorts, or whatever. Big place, y’know, couldn’t miss it if you saw it, that kind of thing. Some bitch sold out the leader, details about our defences and supplies and all that shit, and pinned it on me. Probably figured I’d be okay because I was a friend of the leader dude, but-'

“You didn’t sell them out?” James asks, carefully.

Aleks’ face twists into confusion then disgust, and he manages to say, “What the fuck? No.”

There’s a debated moment of silence, Aleks overthinking everything as usual, and James staring into the remains of the fire. It’s barely there, but still present, burning hot and red. It’s a good point of distraction, Aleks finds, when he follows James’ gaze to it. The air has a bite to it, as it often does this time of year in these parts, and Aleks’ body responds to the cold by shivering. Something indistinguishable about the low temperature makes him more tired than he already was, his eyes hovering between open or closed before settling on the later.

“I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t betray anyone,” Aleks says, finally. His shoulders are still held up in tension, but he feels lighter at the confession. “If I had, I’d say I did. I’m an idiot, dude, but I’m not a little bitch.”

He brings his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. The only thing keeping him awake was food, and that’s finished now so his mind is only able to focus on being able to sleep. A full one, hopefully; where he can fall asleep right away and be out until early morning when James wakes him so he can have his turn to rest while Aleks keeps watch. At the thought, he finds himself yawning, and catches James watching him from the corner of his eye

.

“I'll keep watch first,” James offers, reaching for Aleks’ empty tin to place with his own. “You look like shit, you need the rest.”

Aleks glares at him though there's nothing venomous there, and eventually, he's yawning again, and James is helping him up and to the bed they'll have to partially share for the night. His fingers dig into his side, pressing above the bone of his hip, stumbling but firm as Aleks stumbles over his own feet and threatens to fall over. They’re tired and it’s been a rough, warm day, but Aleks is more grateful than he can say for the presence by his side. James’ grip is tight but not too much so, walking slowly as Aleks’ tired body plays catch up, feet shuffling against the ground as he’s half dragged, half carried to the room, instead of making his way there on his own.

He’s so tired that how he ends up in bed is a blur, lying there with his body tucked under the warmth of James’ jacket. The room is barely illuminated, but James has sat his flashlight up and it’s giving off a little light, enough for Aleks to be able to make out the figure of James, sitting with his back to Aleks on the edge of the bed. It’s barely off the ground, so James’ knees are bent awkwardly despite how comfortable he appears to be. There’s nothing lucky about this, Aleks tells himself, because they had to work their way into finding this, into killing raider’s and other wasteland dangers, and walking those few days without rest to get here.

That’s not luck.

“Wish I could light a fire,” James says suddenly, loud but muffled as Aleks almost slips back into sleep. “Keep us warm, yeah.”

Aleks opens his eyes to stares with blurred vision at James’ back, and reaches his hand out to tug at James’ good side, the bunched fabric of his shirt around his waist. James turns at the motion, and in the dark with the torch giving off just a little light, Aleks can see every small detail of James’ face, from the brown of his eyes to where it's obvious he hasn't shaved in a few days.

“Cold,” he whispers, and James nods, a hand pausing midway to Aleks’ hair before it's slowly moved forward, brushing Aleks’ fringe back away from his forehead. It's not long these days, not like when he was a kid, but the touch is comforting and Aleks closes his eyes and leans into it before he's aware of what he's doing.

“I’ll wake you a few hours before dawn,” James mutters, and Aleks is grateful for the presence of his warm body close to his, stifling another yawn as James cards his fingers carefully through the hair closest to Aleks’ scalp. “Goodnight, Aleksandr.”

Aleks can barely find his words, his mind hyper-focused on the hand in his hair and the weight of James’ jacket over his shoulders. When he finally does speak, eyes flickering open to see James watching him, he only manages a soft, “‘Night,” before sleep claims him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost half way there ;)


	4. how the light works.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aleks wishes he could do more, even though he knows there’s nothing he can do other than help James find his friends, or vice versa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this plus.... about 4k more was meant to be chapter 4 but i ended up splitting them in half because it makes more sense this way! i promise things are about to start happening, just give it a bit of time.

 

 

 

> _“I’ve become more at home amid the nameless.”_

_— Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Poetry of Rilke; “Progress” (tr. Edward Snow)_

* * *

 

 

**chapter 4**

_how the light works._

 

 

Dawn arrives sooner than Aleks expected, the light burning bright outside the windows and unsteady wooden frames of the house. It's quiet, but not in the eerie way he's used to out here. James is awake beside him, hair messy and barely held up anymore, eyes tired and one of his hands around the gun he's had since Aleks met him. He hasn't noticed Aleks is awake yet and he hasn't bothered to wake him up either, and Aleks leans up and yawns, stifling it into the fabric of James’ jacket tossed over his upper half.

James turns, surprised and slightly startled, his wide eyes and curiosity fading to recognition. He's tired, the signs of it pressed into every inch of his face, his own yawn barely disguised by him turning away from Aleks once again.

 _Aron would've liked him_ , Aleks thinks, and wipes at heavy eyes with his fists curled into the jacket. Aron liked most people, to be fair, but James is exactly the in-between of kind and understanding, and protective and willing to do what it takes that Aron was fond of. Aleks could never quite see what Aron saw in him, Aron's glasses from when he wasn't a ghoul settled on his nose and straw hair, and his voice naturally almost muffled by his throat as he spoke.

“I like you, man, you're funny,” he'd say, and Aleks would curl in on himself with a shy laugh. So, Aron liked him for that, but he definitely didn't like Aleks for his quick thinking or negotiation skills or ability to save his friends lives. A lot of them are dead, which is a knife in his gut as James starts speaking in front of him, quietly spoken words about his own friends waiting at home for him. Their names, that Aleks strains to hear correctly, and their ages, and how he's known them for so long he can't remember life before them.

“...I don't give a fuck about most stuff like that, but they're good people. Good company to keep, ‘specially after days spent out in the wasteland. Comic relief, yeah?” James offers, and Aleks nods while unsure of what to say. “Being a mercenary is shit, it's a shit job, but having friends like that make it easier. Otherwise it'd be… really lonely, dude. Like, I wouldn't be able to do it. I'd be lost without those assholes.”

“You speak pretty highly of them,” Aleks says, and James laughs softly. “If that's how you talk about your friends, I don't really wanna know how you talk about people you don't like.”

The sun is blinding now, Aleks’ long fringe falling into his face as he closes his eyes and shifts so that James blocks the light. It’s been a long time since Aleks was up early enough to notice the world come to life, most days spent waking up after dawn and not paying any attention to his own surroundings. That was the luxury of living with Ramsey in his settlement; the knowing you were okay, that you didn’t have to watch your back, and the currency of waking hours not spent having to keep an eye on everything around you. Aleks misses it, like he misses a lot of stuff, and he’s not going to dwell on it for long but he will for a little, because he’s earned the nostalgia of thinking things were better than they were.

Life with Ramsey was not perfect, and he wouldn’t have expected it to be, though he’d take that any day over the unsureness of the wasteland. At least in a settlement with people you could trust- or _thought_ you could trust- there was always someone or something there willing to help you, willing to push you out of the way of danger that was far from a dime a dozen. In the wasteland, threats were at every corner, and they were like that with Ramsey but he was more careful, and he looked after Aleks the way no one had since the merchants he used to call parents.

He sighs, burying his face into the soft floor underneath him. It’s a thin, dirty mattress but it’s luxury compared to everything else out here, the cushioning not enough that he can’t lean a certain way and feel the actual floor pressing into him. As tired as he is, he knows he needs to get up to keep watch for James, who is looking worse by the second. He’s entertained by the morning, the bleached sand painted orange and yellow by the rising sun, the hand of his pressed carefully to his own wound.

Aleks wishes he could do more, even though he knows there’s nothing he can do other than help James find his friends, or vice versa.

“Reckon it might rain,” James says, trying to start a conversation. There’s no way it will, with the already warming day and cloudless sky, but Aleks will entertain the thought.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” James, a loose curl falling across the back of his neck, replies. Aleks stares at it through half-lidded eyes, vision blurred with exhaustion. “Wouldn’t hurt. Some rain or a storm or like… I’m sorry for talking so much, dude. Just helps with the pain- you can tell me to shut the fuck up, or something.”

Aleks considers it, which he knows is bad and he knows he’d never do, and his voice is thick as he says, “How much rain do you think we’ll get?”

“A bit, I don’t know,” James shrugs, choosing not to voice his gratefulness but releasing a soft breath. “Last time it wasn’t much, gave us some to drink and wash in, but it was pretty pathetic as far as rain goes. Been a long time since a real storm, which were always my favourite growing up. I hate the heat, it fuckin’ sucks. And there’s no point waiting around for rain but it’d be nice if we got some, today or tomorrow, or in a week, or in a year. Whatever, you know?”

“Yeah,” Aleks replies.

“Yeah,” James mocks, but Aleks catches the slightest hint of a smile on his face and relaxes. He reaches out a warm hand to press the tip of his index finger into James’ back, earning a noise that is near silent but still loud, followed by James turning to look at him unimpressed. “What, asshole?”

Aleks pauses, unsure of what he was going to say, and slides his hand back into the warmth of James’ jacket over him. His hair is slightly ruffled, making him only slightly envious of James’ long, loose, tied back hair; it’d be harder to take care of but it’s considerably neater and cleaner, and bunched into curls into of Aleks’ pathetic, thick wisps of spiked from sleep hair.  “Nothing,” he says, quiet.

James doesn’t look away, uncurling his fingers in his lap and reaching out to brush Aleks’ hair back. It’s been days of wasteland hassle and sweat and fights since he last washed it, and it’s desperately in need of a cut if he doesn’t want to regrow his old haircut out from when he was a little more than nineteen. James stares at it considerably before stopping, fingers curled in Aleks’ hair, almost painful where it’s being twisted away from his scalp. Still, it’s nice, and comforting, and he’s not going to ask James to stop.

“Haircut?” James, head tilted to the side as he makes a joking snipping sound, pulling gently at Aleks’ hair.

“Probably should,” Aleks yawns, the attention from James winning out over pushing his own head back into the pillow underneath his head. He can’t remember the last time he was so desperate to sleep, to close his eyes and drift off for hours and not have to think about anything other than how warm he is under his clothes and James’ jacket. “You offering or what, dude?”

“Shut up and go back to sleep,” James laughs, the allowance in his voice surprising.

Aleks doesn’t hesitate in finally closing his eyes, James not moving away from where he’s softly playing with Aleks’ hair. His other hand is against his wound, a slight hiss escaping his mouth as he moves to get closer. He’s sitting beside Aleks, one leg outspread but bent into his other, back now against the wall that was once to his right. Aleks should get up, he _should_ \- James is injured and in pain, and he already asked for a distraction, and sleeping will help him heal, so Aleks should, he-

“Don’t worry about me,” James whispers. “I can see you thinking, dumbass. Just go to sleep.”

_

Aleks wakes up with a knife pressed to his throat, harsh against his Adam’s apple, and an arm tight around his upper body holding him against someone’s chest.

They’re wearing a radiation mask- maybe because of the dust in the room or for a reason Aleks doesn’t want to figure out- and their hair is hidden under a wrap, secured from the light breeze. There’s no one else around, including James, and Aleks forgets momentarily about what’s happening, aware of his hair falling in in his vision as he jerks his head to the side. The person holding him squeaks in surprise, their knife slicing a small cut into his neck, a sting that has him pausing his escape to feel at the blood dripping from it.

It’s no worse than when he started shaving as a teenager, really, and he did that with a knife, careful but not so careful he didn’t end up as a mess by the end of it. He brushes at the skin with the pad of his thumb, and he’s aware of how he forced himself forward awkwardly onto his knees, and how the person that had him is patting the ground trying to find their knife. If he can get it first, he can-

There’s a click of a gun to his right, in the doorway, and he peers up it cautiously. A man, dressed similarly to how the younger person with Aleks is, with rags, layers of clothing, and gas masks. They’re conversing in a language he doesn’t know, back and forth and significantly different in tone; the man is firm and short, and the other is softer, a teenager, maybe. Aleks takes advantage of the small distraction and searches the ground for a glint of the knife, aware of the absence of his own around his waist. He spots it not too far away, reaching forward fast to grab it by the blade because he has no alternative.

“Legg det ned!” the man yells, and Aleks stills under his eye, seeing the movement of the other watching him at his other side. Their combined attention is solely on him and the knife that’s only just sitting in his hand, his knees painful where they’re digging into the ground. “You… Gun… Legge det ned, du lille faen!”

Aleks opens his hand to drop it back to the floor, willing James wherever he is to turn up soon. They’re raiders, these two, with their broken English and far away accents, and Aleks feels a pang of pity for them. He remembers the years travelling as a kid from Russia to where he is now, or somewhere similar at the very least. At the end of the trip, he was the only one still alive, trying his best to avoid dangers in the wasteland that he hadn’t run into back at home. These two have each other, father and son, maybe, or father and daughter; Aleks doesn’t want to kill them, but they were more than willing to do the same to him as he slept.

“Ya ne govoryu norvezhskiy,” he tries to explain, hoping they’re able to pick out at least some of his words. The small kid beside him is nervous when he glances at her, and the gun in the man’s hands shakes too unsteadily for Aleks’ liking. His finger is inched back on the trigger, and despite the fact he probably has no actual intention of pumping Aleks full of lead, he looks as though he might accidentally aim off at least one shot. Aleks leans back and raises his arms in defeat, says, “Norwegian, dude. I don’t- dude, I don’t fucking speak Norwegian, or whatever this shit is you’ve got going on.”

From somewhere in the house, there’s a creak. The front door or a floorboard, and from the reaction of the two in the room with him, they don’t have anyone with them. So, unexpected company; relief floods Aleks, hope that it’s James finally realising what’s happening and coming to find him. He can’t be far off, unless he saw his opportunity to ditch and took it while Aleks was sleeping; he wouldn’t, but Aleks doesn’t really know him, so maybe he actually would.

“Pappa?” the teenager asks, their wide eyes and quick speech too revealing.

It’s then that the man- the father- is hit, or rather the gun is knocked out of his hand in Aleks’ direction, and Aleks’ heart is beating fast in his chest. He’s never been too good at heat of the moment decisions but he can feel the teenager’s eyes hot on the gun and he drops to the ground and stretches his arm out to pick it up. It’s barely loaded, with enough bullets to shoot one of them and leave, but what is supposed to be one quick glance up at James reveals that Aleks has bigger problems.

James is nowhere to be seen, instead another man, wearing a t-shirt and boots, fighting with the man in the doorway. Aleks pushes away his worry for the moment so he can focus on the now, thoughts and concerns for James compartmentalized for later when he’s out of this situation he was seemingly dragged into.

The man falls, spluttering as his mask falls off as if the air is poison. The teenager screams, falling forward towards what Aleks assumes is their father, their voice part sob, part screech as they say, "La oss være i fred!"

“Yeah, yeah, calm down,” the other man, Aleks’ kind of saviour, adjusts his hat and turns to look at Aleks where he's on the ground, holding a gun. “Ready to go?”

“I don't fucking know you,” Aleks splutters, eyes searching the man for any kind of symbol or clue of where he's come from. Not that Aleks isn't grateful for the help, but James has to be somewhere close and he can't leave; helpful dude or not. “-why would I go anywhere with you?”

The man laughs, his whole face lighting up with the motion even as Aleks questions how genuine it is. Then, he's shrugging and disappearing from sight, and Aleks is scrambling to his feet clumsily with the gun heavy in his hand. His pants are dirty from the ground and his neck stings now that the adrenaline of the situation has worn off, his other injury below his collarbone presenting itself as a reminder as he moves. He’s beyond beaten up, the brightness of the sun stinging his eyes as they adjust to the light, and to the man standing in the doorway smirking as though he knew Aleks would follow him.

“James was right about you,” he says. “Too curious for your own good, huh?”

Aleks pauses, and tries to twist his features into what he hopes is something resembling disapproval instead of curiosity. The man quirks an eyebrow and laughs, a large hand patting Aleks once on the shoulder before he grabs him and gently guides him through the doorway back out into the wasteland. It’s midday, from the appearance of the outside, and Aleks glances around to look for James while self-conscious about the man watching him. He turns to look at him, ignoring the knots in his muscles from a rough sleep.

The man doesn’t say anything, just pulls Aleks’ knife from the back of his pants and holds it out to him. Aleks takes it, despite not exactly being up for trying to fight this guy or anyone else hand-to-hand if he’s not as okay as he seems to be; in Aleks’ state and considering how small he must be compared to this guy, there’s no wondering about who would win.

It’s a little embarrassing, knowing he wouldn’t win despite how much experience he’s had with things like this. They used to do practices back with Ramsey, and Aleks only ever won because he was smaller than the others, and quicker, more reckless- he got his ass kicked enough times to eventually learn to use his stature as an advantage. All the other guys were huge, all muscle and height and better genes, and it was Ramsey who told Aleks he should manipulate that. _You're smaller, you're faster, if that was me I'd wanna do something with that, you get me?_

Those guys were all fight and aggression, which makes them very different to this new guy. He's shorter, not by much but it's comforting for reasons it shouldn't be. Aleks is lucky that he just scrapes over him and James, because it's the only thing he has that they don't; he's built smaller, used to sliding in and out of places instead of throwing himself into danger. Both James and this guy have shown through their first meetings with Aleks that they have no qualms with violence, or engaging themselves in it, and it's a terrifying thought to imagine himself on the other side of their attention; an enemy instead of an ally, or a potential one at least. Thinking about it makes Aleks cast a nervous glance to his side, to look at this guy, and his footsteps slow as he looks around for any sight of James.

_James._

Yeah, Aleks should probably ask about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are very appreciated!!! as always, my tumblr is @gavinsaleks for personal and @fakespoetry for writing ! 
> 
>  ♡. - rachel.


	5. it's dark.

 

> _listen    the mention_
> 
> _of silence is worse_  
>  _than the silence itself_
> 
> _— Paige Lewis, from “Diorama of Ghosts,” published in The Adroit Journal_

 

“You, uh, you know James?” Aleks asks, raising a hand to shield his face from the sun.

“Brett,” the man introduces and offers forth a hand that Aleks shakes for a few seconds with his free one. The addition of a name to the face is nice, and slightly settles Aleks’ building nerves, but his uncertainty doesn't fade.

“..and James?”

“He’s safe,” Brett offers, and Aleks must look concerned enough for him to add, “He wouldn’t shut up about going back for you, so I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” Aleks says, and Brett smiles before turning to go down the few steps that he must’ve used to get to up to the house. They're the same ones Aleks lost his knife under yesterday, his fingers instinctively gripping the handle of his knife. It's familiar so it's pleasant, but Aleks still can't quite find it in himself to take his eyes completely off Brett, supposed friend of James’ or not.

They walk in complete silence and though it's not exceptionally far, Aleks’ hair sticks to his head with sweat, and he's huffing for breath before he can help himself. Beside him, Brett laughs, and Aleks catches his wide grin and gaze when he glances at him.

“Don't do a lot of cardio?” Brett asks, only half joking.

Aleks forces a small huff of amusement that he hopes translates through his near desperate breaths. He's a mess, he's well aware of that, but he has to wonder how James made it this far with his injuries. Not that Aleks thinks Brett is a liar- he knows a little too much to have not at least spoken to James a bit- but it seems less than plausible. Unless these are James’ friends and there's a few of them that were able to help James hobble rather uselessly all this way. If he could even walk with his injury, because last Aleks saw it, it was bad. Like really, really bad.

On the subject of injuries, Aleks knee buckles slightly as his foot slips forward a few inches on the decline of sand. He bites the inside of his cheek and pushes on, ignoring the concerned look Brett casts at him when he notices. It hasn't healed yet and it's getting better but it hurts, has him inhaling deep to hold his breath until the pain subsides for the most part. It'll likely improve on its own, as many non-serious injuries do, and he can only hope this is one of those situations where it fixes up on its own. Without medicine and attention, and in spite of how much trauma it's been forced through these past few days.

A house peaks over the horizon, the sun high enough that it's not yet too blinding. Aleks raises a hand to peak through his fingers, cautious of the bright of day catching in his eyes. There's a boy standing outside and he looks impatient, arms folded over his chest and head focused away from Brett and Aleks. Upon seeing him, Brett visibly brightens, a lip-splitting smile tucked into each corner of his mouth.

“Trevor!” he calls, and the boy- Trevor , Aleks notes- turns towards the direction of the voice, stiff but relaxing upon recognising Brett.

“Brett!” Trevor says, close enough that he doesn't have to yell.

He's tall, much taller than Aleks himself, James and Brett, yet somehow still looks young in a way that only the youth do. He's twenty, if Aleks had to guess, with lightened brown hair and tidy stubble on his face, his adolescent limbs clumsy as they walk toward Brett and then pull him into a tight embrace.

“How's James?” Brett mumbles into his shoulder, and Aleks diverts his eyes to the sand he's kicking at.

“Asleep,” Trevor says, drifting away from the hug to give Aleks a quick one-over. Then, he adds, “He's still going on about Novac, and about Aleksandr. I'm assuming this is him?”

Aleks glances up, mostly from the surprise of being addressed. He nods, and steps forward to offer a hand to shake that Trevor weakly smiles at before taking. Brett's watching the exchange amused, before a yell from inside draws their combined attention to inside the house; Aleks almost, instinctively, bolts towards it, recognising the voice. Brett holds a hand out in front of him, as though reading his mind, and Trevor gives him a kind, understanding look as Brett squeezes his arm and walks past him to the house.

It's been a long time since Aleks has met anyone with a genuine affection for someone else, and he feels a small pang of jealousy that he can't help. He's happy for them, really, he is, but seeing people with something he might never get to have makes him nostalgic for those days with Jordan and the others, and reminds him suddenly of how he had something close to it with Aron before he let him down.

“So, you're Aleks?” Trevor asks, and his voice is less soft than it was around Brett. Somehow, it's still kind. “I can look at your knee, if you want.”

“How'd you-”

“Uh, I've traveled around. With Brett, mostly, but my friend Lindsey used to practice medicine and she taught me a bit. We've got cleaning stuff and bandages, I can disinfect it so it doesn't get worse. Unless you'd rather… limp around.”

Aleks laughs, and Trevor follows, waiting an only slightly awkward second before walking in the same steps as Brett back to the house. Aleks follows, keeping his head low to avoid the sun and its rays, already sporting an impressive shine of red along his forehead from prolonged exposure to the daylight. It doesn't hurt much, at least not in comparison to his knee, but it could get easily get worse if he's not more careful. Maybe he'll have to invest in a hat, or hope Brett offers him one because he's too polite himself to ask.

Their place is nicer on the inside than the out, with old carpets lining the floors and empty bottles sitting nearby on a shelf like souvenirs. There's blood spotted on a small space of ground that Aleks figures must be James’, and Trevor glances at it and offers an unsure smile that's supposed to be comforting. It is, a little, but Aleks will be worried until he gets told James isn't going to die; it seems reasonable, the worry.

Trevor reaches down to the small table near the wall towards what must've been a kitchen pre-war, holding it by the top to settle in the palm Aleks holds it. He's too thirsty to deny himself this, and maybe he's a little too trusting for his own good.

“Thanks,” he mutters, taking a small sip. His free hand hovers close to his belt, because despite his trusting nature, he's always had to watch his own back, and he doesn't entirely want to put blind faith in Brett and Trevor, their hospitality aside.

“Don't mention it, man,” Trevor says, and it's then that Aleks notices the blood on his undershirt.

He's unzipped his jacket because of the overwhelming heat, and Aleks feels ill looking at it, knowing that it's James’ and he's passed out in another room while these two try to figure out what they're supposed to do with them. It makes Aleks realise how useless he is, and reminds him that he's meant to be leaving now according to his plan. Or, he was going to point James and his friends in the direction of Novac and then ditch them and hope he didn't die on his own in the wasteland.

He's forgotten what it's like to have people that care about you, and he doesn't want to leave. Not until Novac, at least. Get them there and then leave, Aleks can do that. He can, it's no big deal, alone or not he's only ever truly had himself and that's not likely to ever change. It's easier to just… accept it and move on, both literally and metaphorically. James’ friends will get him the help he needs and Aleks won’t have to feel guilty about leaving him behind because they don’t owe each other anything, and the deal was to get him to Novac, that’s all.

“Aleks?” Brett interrupts the silence, and Trevor stares at Aleks before reaching to politely take his water from him. “James is awake, if you wanna say hi.”

Aleks almost hesitates, for obvious reasons, but eventually nods. “Yeah, uh- yeah, that'd be nice,” he says, and Brett smiles at him.

“Back room,” Trevor instructs, Aleks’ back to him. “The door should be open, you can't miss it.”

Aleks gives him a distracted, “Thanks,” in reply, and makes his way through the foreign territory of the house. It's not so big that it'd be easy to get lost in, or that he'd have trouble navigating his way through. There's a small light pouring out of a room through its open door at the end of the hallway, Aleks ignoring the numb creak of worn down wood planks under his feet. He quietly walks, and pauses right before the door to peer in, catching sight of James staring at the contents of a book he's holding in one hand. The cover is hard to read, but it's a reassuring sight.

“Hey,” he says, clearing his throat as James turns to him. He takes another step into the room, leaning against the doorframe as carefully as he can. It's not too steady, wood splintering and harsh in a particular point of his back. Even so, he places most of his weight against it, a hand moving to rub at his neck in self assurance and distraction.

“Listen, Aleksandr, about leaving-”

“They're your friends, dude, I get it,” Aleks interrupts, and James appears as though he wants to push further but he doesn't. It's awkward, standing here watching and trying to start an already dying conversation that doesn't seem as if it'll go anywhere. Aleks clears his throat again and puts forward, “You feeling better?”

“This is ridiculous,” James scoffs, and Aleks hopes his face shows his confusion. “C'mere, dude.”

Aleks leans away from the doorway and is careful of his knee as he approaches the cot James is laid up in, sitting on the edge near the middle. It's comfortable in comparison to the floor and whatever they've put over the curtains to block out light has done a decent job, the room light but not blindingly so. It's nice, overall, and so homely that Aleks wants to ask if this is their house, and James’, or if they were just lucky enough to stumble upon it.

Maybe it's the days spent in the wasteland or the years of dirt and crumbling foundations, but Aleks likes it here; likes the vibe. It's decorated nicely in the living room where he left Trevor, with functioning furniture and cupboards he's going to assume are stocked with at least a little supplies. Food, water, medicine- things like that.

“How'd they find you?” Aleks asks.

“You're a deep sleeper, you know that? Trevor found us and I wasn't looking too great so they brought me back, then Brett went to get you. You have any trouble?”

“Uh, some raiders. Norwegian ones, I think. Not that it matters or whatever, but they weren't exactly looking to make friends, James,” Aleks replies, a hand moving to gently press against the small knick at his throat. It doesn't hurt, though talking about what happens reminds him that it's there. It'll heal quickly, a couple of days give or take, so he won't worry about it unless it becomes a problem, which it won't.

“You hurt?”

Aleks sighs, his previously occupied hand moving to rub at his tired eyes to keep himself awake. It doesn't work, just makes them sore and more aware of the sand that was thrown in them on the journey here. Still, he turns to James at his back, hands gripping the edge of the bed, and says, “A scratch, nothing major. I'm fine.”

“I'm fine, too, thanks for asking,” James scoffs, neglecting to offer a real sarcastic tone. He's smiling when Aleks gets a better look at him, with the dried blood on his skin and new clothes on, his hair half undone and curlier than Aleks originally thought it was.

Aleks smiles back, tiredly, and stretches his leg out to test his knee. Trevor already said he'd have a go at patching it up, and after seeing what he was able to do for James, Aleks is going to decide to trust him on that. Even if he can't, the injury needs time and rest more than it needs anything else, and with James bedridden for a while, Aleks is willing to give his knee a little recovery time. He's earned it, surely, after these few days of constant problems and helping James limp around from place to place. He didn't mind it, really; he'd never admit it but the company was nice, and he would've died days ago had it not been for James.

They both would’ve died without each other, there’s no doubt. Aleks doesn’t necessarily think they’re both weak but injured, tired, hungry? Yeah. No one can do too well when they’re beaten down, and they managed to make it here to James’ friends so Aleks will take that as a victory, no matter how small.

Behind him, James yawns, distracting Aleks from his thoughts. He's tired more than anything, and he'd kill for a warm shower and well-made bed right about now. And a meal, which makes his stomach growl too loud in the silence and inciting a soft, breathy laugh from James.

“Hungry?”

“Shut up,” Aleks mumbles, the smile on his face tinged with exhaustion. James can’t see it anyway, but Aleks hopes he knows it’s there.

Trevor clears his throat in the doorway, dragging Aleks’ attention to it. He looks considerably well looked after in a way most people don’t in the wasteland, but it’s the object in his hand that really catches Aleks’ attention; food, and water, and something that might be some kind of medicine. Aleks’ stomach grumbles again quietly, his eyes suddenly lighter at the concept of eating, and Trevor smiles knowingly as he walks over to settle on the barely standing, makeshift bedside table next to the bed Aleks and James are on. It wobbles with the weight, because of uneven legs if Aleks had to guess, though he’s too focused on the sludge in the two bowls to notice properly.

Brett’s nowhere to be found, more than likely cleaning up or taking stock, or checking around the house for dangers. Aleks hasn’t been in a house like this in a long time but he got used to being in Ramsey’s settlement and he knows what has to be done to ensure your safety, and Trevor and Brett look cared for and healthy enough for Aleks to want to assume they know, too. You’d have to be stupid not to, with how the world is and how it works. They’ve had a long time to get used to it, in a way that reminds Aleks how used to fending for himself he is when Trevor passes him a bowl of food and a clean spoon.

This is different, and he follows James’ lead in thanking Trevor as Trevor says, “Brett said you might be hungry,” then goes to leave.

He catches in the doorway like he’s been given a reason to stay, and Aleks pushes his food around to stall for time as Trevor lingers. James coughs intentionally, shocking Trevor back into himself as he turns back to them, hair partly in his face and his mouth parted as if he’s going to say something. It’s been a long day for all of them, walking and fixing, and Trevor still has blood on him from patching up James’ injuries moments before Brett and Aleks arrived; he looks exhausted, but in a way different to how Aleks feels.

“James needs to clean himself up when he’s done with dinner,” Trevor finally manages, the tray held loose but firm in his hands. “There’s enough water for a bath out the back but you’ll have to give him a hand. I can check your knee when you’re done with that.”

“Thanks,” Aleks says, hoping the smile he offers isn’t as hollow as it feels. “We’ll do it soon.”

When Trevor pulls the door behind himself with a squeak, James pokes Aleks sharply in the spine, though softly still that it doesn’t hurt, just gets his attention. “Your knee?” he asks, a glance behind revealing the concern and confusion in his features.

Aleks stretches his leg out, the cut hidden by his pants, and James’ eyebrows knit together as he watches. Instead of saying much else, Aleks starts to eat instead, neglecting to mention much else to James as they eat in silence. His stomach grumbles despite being filled and he blinks at the tiredness and blur in his eyes, knowing he won’t be able to get much sleep until James has bathed and Trevor has made sure their injuries aren’t too bad. If they were, it’d hurt more, most likely, except Aleks isn’t an expert so he doesn’t really know; what he does know is that getting shot that one time was a hundred billion times more painful than the knee he’s been walking with for days without any proper care directed at it.

James struggled a lot more with his wound than Aleks, which was to be expected considering how different their injuries were. James was shot by a raider then proceeded to walk with Aleks for nearly four days to get here, and Aleks scraped his knee falling over as he ran from the closest thing to home he’s ever known; at the end of the day, Aleks can ignore his aching knee because there are things to think about that hurt worse, but to James, his wound probably would’ve hurt worse than anything they experienced those days in the wasteland. Raiders and ghouls and getting so close to finding stuff they need only for it to be completely useless are vaguely difficult to deal with, but pale in comparison to getting shot.

“You get it earlier?” James asks, suspicion clouding his words. Aleks turns to him, ignoring the awkward angle, and knows that James knows that his knee hurt for much longer than he was going to admit.

“‘Round the same time as yours,” Aleks shrugs, diverting his eyes to place his near empty bowl on the small table. James watches him then looks back at his own food, allowing them to slip easily into the silence of not talking once again. They’ve had a lot of quiet these past few days, as strangers trying to learn to coexist in a world that was very actively trying to kill them at every turn they made. It’s been difficult, though there’s a certain pleasure in knowing they made it through all that and they’re here now. Like there’s a certain disappointment and dread for Aleks in knowing that Novac is three days from here and he has absolutely no intention of going there with James.

He likes James, and he likes James’ friend, and he doesn’t exactly look forward to the idea of being on his own again. It’ll suck, having to be more careful because there’s no one around to watch his back; part of him almost wants to try to convince James to not go to Novac, deal made with that dead merchant or not. If he stays, Aleks can stay, and they can live here with Trevor and Brett if they’ll take them.

Aleks rubs his hands down his face, massaging gently into his closed eyes to make himself more awake. He’s getting ahead of himself, inserting himself into scenarios he wasn’t invited into in the first place because he doesn’t want to be alone again and because Ramsey is going to be searching for him until the end of time so Aleks really can’t afford to be out there on his own. He can’t, not without someone who can help him watch his back, and who is willing to stick with him through everything that’s right outside the door waiting for them. He doesn’t expect Brett and Trevor to ask him to stay or to stop him from leaving, but a selfish, scared part of him wants James to. To ask him to stick around, to live here with them until they move on. Even then- even thinking about it and wanting it- he’s not sure he’d say yes.

“Help me up?” James says, with a strain. Aleks can see his wound where his shirt is ridden up, revealing skin. “I'm getting old.”

“Or you were shot,” Aleks jokes, and James smiles softly and accepts Aleks’ hands on him as he leans over, trying to lift James enough that he can stand on his own. He's on his feet after little struggle, though still leans into Aleks like he's the only thing keeping him standing.

James pulls open the door as Aleks steps back to avoid it, allowing James to guide him through it and into the empty hall of the house. It's adjoined to the living room and porch Aleks had to traverse to find James, more familiar looking now with James than any of the houses they stayed in in the past five days. Maybe it's the vibe, the utter feeling of home and knowing that people live here that makes it that way, but Aleks can't be entirely sure.

Brett and Trevor are eating their own dinner when Aleks and James almost fall into the room, arms around each other to keep James steady. Trevor's changed his shirt and there's a wet cloth tinged pink beside Brett's arm that was more than likely used to clean the dried blood from Trevor's hands, neck and face. They stop talking as soon as they notice the presence in the room, their previously hushed voices suddenly muted. Despite it, their faces light up when they see James on his feet.

“You look better,” Brett examines, then let's a smirk tug at one corner of his mouth as he adds, “Still like shit, but better, James.”

“Thanks, asshole,” James grumbles, a cry loud as Aleks’ hand briefly brushes his wound.

“Shit, dude, sorry,” Aleks winces, hands clumsy and panicked as he grabs at James tighter as though he's going to collapse in Aleks’ arms.

James waves him off, putting on a brave face, and Aleks turns to catch the other two too curious. They're worried, it's all but projected on their faces, and Aleks wants to assume it's because of James’ injury. If they can't fix it, it'll be a long three day journey to Novac to try and find help that isn't all that guaranteed; and, if James doesn't get better then, there won't be anything they can do. Nothing, at all. The wasteland isn't forgiving like that, and neither is life.

Brett stands and makes his way to what used to be the house's kitchen and is now what appears to be a clean-up area, with dishes and clothes and bloodied instruments Trevor must've used for James. It's a decent place, in a way that makes Aleks more jealous than he has any right to be being considering the circumstances. They have it tough, everyone does these days, and sometimes he's a little quick to forget it.

“Bath's 'round the corner,” Trevor says. “Everything you need should be there but if you want anything else, Brett can get it for you.”

It's friendly and kind, Aleks unsure of how exactly to respond until James says thanks and goes to walk, pulling a quiet Aleks along with him. The bath is inside a small room, the door unlocked but closed as James opens it, the arm around Aleks’ neck dragging Aleks down a little. James is shorter, not by much but enough that Aleks finds himself slouching to accommodate for him at his side. He doesn't mind the reliance, just wants to get this over and done with so he can sleep and so he can see how bad James’ wound really is.

The bath is a tub with barrels of cold water around it, fresh bandages and clothes laid conveniently about for James. He and Aleks separate, to take in everything and so James can get ready to bathe, and Aleks stands staring awkwardly, unsure of what he's supposed to do now.

“Turn around,” James says, teeth gritted as he begins to unwrap the already bloodied bandages around his side.

“Let me help-”

“Aleksandr, for fuck's sake-”

“Okay, okay, Jesus Christ,” Aleks grumbles, and forces his back to James, focusing his eyes instead of a pile of delicately washed towels sitting in the opposite corner to the bath. James won't have much privacy soon, but Aleks will let him have these small moments to himself if he wants them. They're still strangers, something Aleks can't quite forget after remembering that despite everything that's happened the past few days, they've only known each other for less than a week. Which is barely any time at all, really.

“Give me a hand?” James says, his own voice quiet like he doesn't really mean what he's saying. Still, Aleks turns to him and keeps his eyes from wandering, offering his hand as James lowers himself with a hiss and a forced laugh into the cold water sitting in the bath.

It's clean and Aleks shouldn't be so surprised but he is, moving to untie James’ hair as James wets his hands and rubs at his face. He makes a soft noise when Aleks tugs too tight, Aleks’ apology half drowned out by James letting out a cry. He tries to muffle it or keep it in, the damage already done as Aleks’ hands pause in James’ hair. The once clean water is tinged with brown and red, and James hunches over purposefully to give Aleks a better angle, his fingers working the band over and out of James’ long curls.

He reaches for a small cup sitting nearby and pauses it to James without a word, who fills it with water and passes it back. Aleks doesn't ask if he's crying or if it hurts, instead pours the water over what part of James’ hair he can wet without pouring water into James’ face. His hair is relatively clean, Aleks subconsciously running his fingers through it as James shifts in the bath, sniffling.

“Y'alright?” Aleks is finally able to ask, a hand comfortingly pressed to James' back, all palm and outspread fingers against warm skin.

“You ever been shot before?” James whispers, clearing his throat and moving his hand to wipe at what Aleks thinks is tears.

Aleks has, kinda, and he wakes up from nightmares about it even all these years later. He spends too long living in the silence James’ question built, his palm unmoving against James and his other hand rubbing stars into the back of his eyelids. It was once, when he was young and Aron was dead, and it's when Ramsey found him, so the sudden, vulnerability of James’ voice and question makes Aleks conflicted. He wants to talk about it without really talking about it; without divulging this information to a stranger he doesn't know.

A stranger who is James , who has saved Aleks’ life more times in a couple of days than anyone else has done in Aleks’ whole lifetime.

“Once,” he whispers back, and grabs the cup by his side to pass back to James, intentions clear. “When I was, uh, sixteen, by a scavenger. I wasn't shot like you were, the bullet just kinda skimmed me, but it still hurt like a bitch. I thought I was going to die or something,” he adds, and forces out a heavy laugh that burns at his eyes.

James hums, his hand shaking as he passes the cup back to the hand Aleks stretches out to grab it. It's the most personal thing Aleks has ever told anyone, and his fingers tighten around the cup as he stares at it, a single exhale ten times louder in the absence of sound in the room. Aleks doesn't mind the lack of conversation, his own thoughts torn between sleep and Ramsey and a white scar on his left hip from years ago that never went away. Thinking about being shot always reminds him of Aron, which aches more than anything else.

“You know how like, someone loses a limb and they say they can still feel it? It's all tingly and shit? Getting shot felt like that to me, James,” he offers, and James nods, something solemn about it. “I used to think it was there some days when I woke up. Mostly from nightmares, pretty bad ones.”

“I’ve shot a lot of people,” James admits, and Aleks’ breath halts halfway in his throat for a reason he can't pinpoint. “Not all of them were bad.”

The confession silences Aleks quicker than anything else has, the hand on James’ back moving to his shoulder to squeeze. It's meant to bring some kind of comfort and Aleks will take it as a good sign that James doesn't shrug it away or ask him to remove it, instead allowing the warmth of Aleks’ hand to remain for longer than it needs to before he moves it away into his own lap.

“You do it a lot?” Aleks asks, unaware of whether or not he wants an honest answer.

“I never really stop.”

Aleks nods even though James can't see him, turning to the contents on the shelf beside him to grab at a bottle that's sitting there. It's got a handwritten label that reads 'hair’, so Aleks grabs it and pours some into his palm, making sure the lid is clipped shut before he scoops a drop of it onto his other hand. James’ hair is slimmer when wet, making it easier to separate it into soaked curls and put the cream into it. It sinks in quickly and James sighs tiredly as Aleks massages it gently into the back of his scalp.

They'll need to wrap this up soon and redress James’ wound so Aleks can get his knee looked at and they can sleep, the lack of conversation filled only by yawns. They're both exhausted, James half asleep as Aleks hands him the cup back so he wash out James’ hair. It's the closest Aleks has gotten to anyone in years, but it's natural and not awkward in a way he can't describe; words fail him when he tries. It's cold in the room and James shivers in the bath, Aleks settling the cup at his side as he stands, making his way to the other side of the room in a few short strides to grab a towel.

He settles on getting two, keeping his back turned to James and pausing in the corner with the towels as he hears the telltale sounds of James getting out of the bath. There's a moment of debated quiet before James says, teeth almost chattering, “Pass me a towel?”

Aleks abides, closing his eyes to turn slightly to offer them out to James. His curiosity almost gets the better of him, wanting to peek at James’ wound to see if it's as bad as he thinks is it, but James winces loud and Aleks’ eyes flicker open in concern before he can think through the action.

“Fuck,” James breathes, unaware of Aleks’ eyes on the patch of skin above his hip, the flesh previously punctured by a bullet but healing. It looks good, nothing but once mangled skin and blood that's been cleaned away and stitched up, the surrounding areas red and painful but otherwise okay. It's a surprising sight, and Aleks moves forward to grab the other towel and hold it out in front of James, who gives him an appreciative look in return.

There's clean clothes sitting on the edge of a rickety stool and Aleks points it out to James, his attempt at that nothing more than a, “Clothes. Over there,” that James thanks him for.

This time, he keeps his eyes shut, opening them only when the towel he's holding out is gently pried away from his fingers, a glance ahead of him revealing a cleaned, dressed James. He's unsteady on his feet, same as before, and Aleks reaches a hand out to twist around his waist as they settle against one another. It's nice, the wordless communication they've fallen into, and Aleks walks with James back out to the living room where they left Brett and Trevor.

Brett's gone, Trevor sitting at a table writing messily in a leather bound notebook of some kind. He lifts his head as they enter, moving his arm to close his book carefully, a pair of glasses perched on his nose that Aleks finds himself smiling at. It's the little things, really, like this, the ones that remind him of the days pre-war and how normal this home with James and his friends feels; Aleks likes it, his heart only getting heavier when he reminds himself of his plans to leave.

He should enjoy this for as long as he can, because for him it won't last.

“You good?” Trevor asks, question directed at James.

“Yeah,” James answers, and the hand on Aleks shoulder tightens its grip on the shirt it's currently fishing, James switching between which foot he's settling his weight on. “You gonna have a look at Aleksandr's knee?”

“In the morning,” Brett says, standing in the doorway and surprising them all. “You both look like shit, leave it until later. His knee will be fine until then, unless…?”

Aleks is aware of their eyes on him, friendly but unnerving. James leans into him more, Aleks’ hand tightening its grip on him to keep them steady where they are. He's tired, and he probably doesn't look great now that he thinks about it, so getting to have a rest and get his knee fixed up tomorrow doesn't sound too bad. At least then he wouldn't be shaky on his feet, and there are bags under Trevor's eyes that make Aleks guilty for more than one reason.

“Until morning,” he repeats in agreement, ignoring the way James glances at him.

“I'll share with Aleks,” James says, it taking seconds too long for Aleks to realise he means rooms. “The others are filled with your shit. And you guys have the only other bed.”

“Okay,” Brett says, stepping towards them as motions for Trevor to get up. He does, which is when it occurs to Aleks that Brett and Trevor share a room and a bed, likely, and everything makes a little more sense. “It's the one down the hallway, in case you don't remember.”

“Thanks,” Aleks says, quick and sarcastic, and Trevor smiles at Brett when he laughs, his hand slapping Aleks softly on the back. When they think he's not paying attention, he catches Brett exchange a warning glance with James, one that Aleks can't quite decipher. It's worried or concerned, with something lost buried in there that is hard to pick at so Aleks doesn't bother, just tucks the image into the back of his mind for a later time. It's nothing to overthink, but Aleks has always been the type to.

They part for sleep, Brett offering to take watch for the night because he can sleep in the morning, and none of them argue with him despite Trevor looking as though he wants to. The next few moments go slow once they've made their way to James’ room, warm into each other and clutching only just tighter than is necessary. Aleks’ eyes are heavy again, even more so when James separates from him and settles in bed, lying on his back with an inviting spot next to him.

Aleks kicks off his boots and peels off his jacket to the clean undershirt he's wearing underneath, careful of disturbing James too much as he takes off his pants, too filthy to consider sleeping in his nice bed in. James is wearing his clean clothes, his hair wet and fluffy against his pillow as he seemingly waits for it to dry, his eyes not leaving Aleks even as Aleks catches his gaze.

“Goodnight, Aleksandr,” James says.

“G'night, James,” Aleks replies, eyes adjusted enough to the dark to see James’ eyes closed as he tries to sleep. For the first time since his last, peaceful night at Ramsey's settlement, Aleks falls asleep without the threat of nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading if you've made it this far!  ♡.


	6. we are not traitors.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aleks crosses his arms over his chest and sighs, warm and deep, but does as he's told.
> 
> It's going to be a long few days.

 

> _i thought the rest of my life would_  
>  _be a storm oncoming, but i have_  
>  _mastered outrunning the rain —_ _  
> _ _  
> _ from “Cat. 4″ by Yves Olade

_____

  


**chapter six.**

_we are not traitors._

  


_brett and trevor's._

_._

“Yell if it hurts?” Trevor says, ignoring the concerned flash of a look that crosses Aleks’ face.

Aleks nods hesitantly to distract himself from his aching knee as Trevor examines it, fingers softly prodding at the surrounding skin. The cut is healed but after days out in the wasteland it's not as good as it could be; dirty, painful, infected. James sits close, watching carefully as Trevor reaches into a small bag of what Aleks assumes is some kind of medical supplies.

“Not too bad, man, you're lucky,” Trevor smiles, using the distraction of Aleks relaxing to press harsh against the wound.

Aleks jerks away, his voice low but breaking as he yells, “Bitch!”

“You're a man-baby, come on,” James teases, putting a hand on Aleks’ lower arm to hold him where he is. He's right, but Aleks still clenches his teeth and sinks slightly in his seat, eyeing Trevor's smile. “Can't be that bad, you're making a big deal out of nothing. Suck it up.”

“You and your friends are assholes,” Aleks manages between tight teeth, lips barely parted as he releases a slow breath. “Wouldn’t make fun of a man with an injury, huh? Bitch-ass looking bitch, James.”

Brett laughs, then, hovering behind all of them as he takes a break from tidying up. They're supposed to be getting things ready to make the trip to Novac, but James brought up the great point of checking out Aleks’ knee first and they'd all agreed, even if Brett hadn't looked so sure. Aleks doesn't want to slow them down, though he knows James already will; which, isn't a problem, really, but better him than the weird boy he dragged in from the wasteland. AKA Aleksandr.

“You act like you've never been shot before,” Brett smirks, something light but heavy in his words. “It's a scrape, you'll be fine.”

James sighs, leaning back in his seat and dragging everyone but Trevor's attention to him. He's exhausted, they all are, though it's a better look on him than on anyone else; Aleks almost wants to shake the thought from his head, instead resigns himself to having to admit to himself that it's true. They're lucky that Brett and Trevor have what they have, and James is fortunate that he's a pretty good looking guy. Aleks wishes he could say the same about himself but he really is a mess, all things considered.

“This might hurt,” Trevor says, right before James says, “Maybe we could go on a detour, you know? Novac second, go… like, elsewhere first. I haven't been to-”

“James, we can't do that,” Brett, arms folded over his chest, tone more warning than simple instruction. “We have a time limit, we can't disregard it because you feel like a vacation.”

“Yeah, fuckin’ figures, poor dude wants to stretch his legs and he gets shot down,” James complains, yawning discreetly into his fist of a hand. “Novac it is, then. Unless you wanna shoot that down, too, Brett?”

“No, you can have that one,” Brett laughs, and Aleks interrupts with a small scream.

“Dude! Stop!”

Trevor shrugs, eyebrows furrowed together. He presses gentle fingers against the wound, a stern glance directed at Aleks as his leg instinctively jerks away from trying-to-be careful hands. He can't help it, despite how hard he's willing his body to co-operate for long enough for Trevor to do what he needs to; really, though, when has anything of Aleks’ done what he's asked it to? Especially in situations like this, where moving only makes things a lot more difficult than they need to be.

“Okay, you wanna have a go at this, Mr Hotshot?” Trevor groans, and it's only then that it hits Aleks just how young he is. Around Aron's age, if he was still around- _alive_. “Stop moving.”

Aleks crosses his arms over his chest and sighs, warm and deep, but does as he's told.

It's going to be a long few days.

_

_the wasteland._

_._

The sun is harsher than Aleks remembers from his days with Ramsey, the way it beats down upon them and scorches the earth. He’s wearing shoes and his hair is a spiked, sweaty mess atop his head, bleached copper brown at the tips from the sun, Brett sporting a hat and boots not far away. They’re not the most prepared for a walk like this but James insisted, and his voice was so soft and pleading that Aleks couldn’t say no, especially not with one of James’ old shirts baggy on him, and Trevor sitting beside them with that look he gets.

Aleks barely knows them, so they're not as familiar to him as James is getting, but they're easy to fall into things with. They have their own quirks and ticks, small expressions, features and gestures that Aleks is slowly picking up on and deciphering. He likes them, beyond the way they tend to shift around him sometimes as if they don't yet trust him. He gets it, really, but for the most part he spends his days tucked safely to James’ side, relishing in the safety and companionship that's offered. James is similar to his friends, though different in a way Aleks can't exactly pinpoint; admittedly, he's still getting used to all of this, and to James, most of all.

James is tactful, calculated but not too obviously, and he always gets what he wants whether or not it's what's best. For all the little time Aleks has spent with him, he's learned that all of James’ ideas and plans work out for him no matter how risky. Whether it's his experience in the wasteland, luck, or the universe shining down on him, things just work out in his favour. They just do. It's impressive, kind of, and Aleks is semi envious of how easy it is for James to set his mind on something and stick to it. Which, in hindsight, is probably why Aleks, still with his creaky knee and exhausted eyes, was so quick to say yes to leaving the security of the house to attempt the trip to Novac.

There had some gentle persuasion, like James’ fingers soft and curling around Aleks’ stubborn hand, and his voice tired but needing as he'd said: “Say yes, dude. You have to say yes or we're not going, and I need to go.”

Aleks has never been the best at saying no, or denying boys who look at him the way James did, and so maybe nothing's changed and he's going to keep giving James what he wants, but they'll be apart soon. They'll reach Novac and Aleks will leave first chance he gets, and now that he knows these people and James, it's going to be harder than he thought to turn his back on them. He has to, whether he wants to or not, and that realisation stings.

Patch up James (done), visit James’ friends (done), part ways right before Novac… Aleks can manage that. Or he thinks he can, but sometimes the lines between what he's willing to do and what he's not willing to do blur together. Which is confusing and terrifying and has him trying to convince himself with an arm supporting James at his side that he won't find it hard to leave. He's going to miss Trevor and Brett, despite how quiet and awkward and unexplained the situation between them is, because they're nice, and they've given him more than anyone has since Ramsey.

_Ramsey._

The lost, confused part of Aleks misses him, like he misses Aron and what it felt like to be young and think you were invincible. It's stupid, it's pathetic, but these past few nights at James’ place Aleks spent more time with his eyes wet than dry, more hours awake staring into the night with James asleep beside him than he has sleeping. Things like guilt, regret, loss, misunderstanding- they're all good focus points for hours when he's feeling more vulnerable than normal. Vulnerable like whispering James’ name into the dark hoping for a reply, like moving close and focusing on the body breathing slow beside him, like trying to focus on the now instead of his inevitable miserable future alone and on the run.

Easy said than done, all of this. When he'd told James he'd guide him to Novac, he hadn't expected more than to get him there then leave and barely remember him. It's a week and a half later, half that time spent in the wasteland and the other at Brett's and Trevor's, and Aleks is going to hate leaving. He'll hate leaving and he'll entertain the idea of staying just because he'll want to pretend for a bit that he can; that they won't reach Novac and he'll disappear without so much as a goodbye.

He wishes all of this were easier, or he could go back in time and try to sort through his mistakes to find exactly the point he screwed all of this up for himself. Somewhere between meeting James, telling him his name, letting them save each other's lives, and letting the usual gates that Aleks builds fall enough for James to work his way in as what Aleks desperately- despite knowing he can't- wants to be a permanent presence. James at his side, Brett and Trevor not far behind… sounds pretty ideal, if he's being honest. He's missed companionship and safety and friends, and he has this right here in front of him so close he can almost grab it.

Except, there a hundred different obstacles in the way that stop him, and he has to accept that he can't get past him. Somewhere, someplace, Ramsey is waiting for him to show his face so he can kill him, and anyone helping him. Aleks is going to die eventually, without a doubt; he can't hide forever. When he does, he can only hope that it's after Novac, miles away with no traces of these three anywhere on or near him. No one would willingly stay if they knew, not when it's a deathwish.

James smiles at Aleks politely, their skin sweaty and warm and pressed together through clothes as they help each other limp through the desert. Aleks smiles back, eyes burning with the heat of the sun and something else he'd rather not think about, and wonders if James would've helped had he known.

If anyone of them would look at his crumpled, defeated but trying pathetic excuse for a body, and help him. Lift him out of the dirt and save his life again and again and again, and let him into their home, and be vulnerable under his curious gaze, and be as close to him as James is. Granted, their arms secured around one another is more necessity than choice, but Aleks nearly finds himself wishing it wasn't.

“Hot,” James says, eyes squinted as he looks up at the midday sun. In front of them, Brett and Trevor are laughing and bumping shoulders.

“Yeah, sure is,” Aleks offers, clearing his throat.

Things like this don't last, so he'll destroy his chances of being there when it all caves down by leaving them all behind. Some people are better on their own, not for their own sake but for other people's. Aleks knows that almost as well as he knows the back of his hand and the list of things he wants but can't have that he keeps tucked away in a barely visited corner of his mind.

Aleks has never known how to keep a good thing, how to treat it the way he should, so he'll ruin this for himself on purpose before he has the opportunity to do it accidentally.

_

It takes them five days to get to Novac, five days for Aleks to spend the nights and mornings staring at James asleep and come to the conclusion that he isn't going to leave. That he doesn't want to, because there's something drawing and intriguing about James, sandy curls laid up on the pillow underneath his head, lips gently parted in sleep. Aleks thinks about people and leaving, and every thing that keeps him pressed to James’ side instead of running away. He could, and he thinks about it, but James wakes up on day two and smiles tiredly, and Aleks doesn't want to miss all of this.

He doesn't have enough room on both hands to count his regrets, and there are more than he would know how to count up to in both the languages he knows anyway.

When they first set out, he promised himself he'd leave in the middle of the night, maybe before dawn, a few days before they got to Novac. Trevor and Brett are capable enough to make it on their own without Aleks’ guidance, and James admitted a few days previous that he has a slim idea of where it is. To Aleks, it seemed like an invitation for him to leave, the way James and the others looked at him when they thought he was too immersed in the map. He considers it, a lot, but he can't.

He rationalises it three ways:

One- he does what he planned to do and gets them there safe, then makes an excuse about going to find something and instead leaves. Takes his few possessions and cuts out on them before they have half the mind to notice he's gone.

Two- he leaves one night, uses the guise of a sandstorm and ducks out right before the sun decides to rise. That way, he can use it to guide him and by the time they wake up and realise he's gone and not coming back, it'll be too hot and tiring to go on a wild goose chase to try and find him. If Aleks focusses hard enough, he can hear Brett's voice telling James that it's better for them to keep moving; that maybe Aleks has gone ahead and will meet them at Novac.

Three, and finally- he stays. He gets them to Novac and helps James deliver that package for that merchant, and they stay for a bit. For as long as they all want to, and for as long as Aleks can avoid curious eyes. And if it gets really bad, he convinces them to leave for somewhere else with him or he goes off on his own. Either way, he gets companionship and safety and belonging, and James, for just that little bit longer. Not a lot, but enough that it'll hurt more to possibly leave them behind but he won't have to feel as guilty for it.

He chooses number three their first day traveling out into the wasteland, really. There's a small campfire and Aleks is cold and laughing, and the other two have gone to bed leaving him and James there on their own. James smiles at him, bright and warm despite the dark of night and the chill in the breeze, embers flickering up in the air.

He says, “When we first met, you said you used to have a friend?”

Aleks’ stomach drops but he nods, scrunches up his nose with a sniff and replies, “What?”

“Exactly what I said, asshole,” James teases, the anxiety tightening Aleks’ nerves relaxing. The mood solemns, a howl from far away ominous and foreboding as the wind whistles loud in their ears, James’ voice barely heard over the noise as he says, “... A Ghoul?”

The silence that follows is tense, Aleks trying to figure out whether he's going to answer the question or evade it completely while James clears his throat and stares at Aleks before awkwardly turning back towards the fire. It's dying so it's getting colder out here, Brett's and Trevor's voices muffled and amused from inside the walls of the house at Aleks’ back. He can't remember the last time he honestly spoke to anyone about Aron, or if he even has. With Ramsey, he tended to bite his tongue about things like that, in case he got too comfortable and the usual fear settled in and made him leave.

Aron, his first best friend from far too long ago. Those days seem like a hundred years ago and Aleks feels like he's aged an eternity since the night he lost him. Staring at the fire, someone at his side, reminds him of Aron. Except, James isn't Aron and he's watching concerned, and how Aleks feels about him is a little different to how he felt about Aron. He should talk about it, it's not healthy to keep it in the way he has, he should-

“You can tell me to piss off if you want,” James laughs, though it's hollow. “Seriously, man. I won't mind, it's-”

“Aron,” Aleks chokes. “His name was Aron, he was fourteen- _fifteen_.” James nods and nods, a hand settling on Aleks’ shoulder for a moment comfortingly. “I met him when I was fifteen, and he died when I was, uh, sixteen. He was killed, actually. I… I couldn't save him, so I fucked up a bit there.”

“Come on, dude,” James says, voice quieter than Aleks can remember being. He stands and wipes his dusty hands on his jeans, offering a hand to Aleks to help him up, who takes it almost immediately. “Gotta be tired, yeah?”

The days after that pass excruciatingly slow, between storms and run ins with raiders or scavengers, and James’ and Aleks’ injuries making them all keep a pace much less fast than if they were healed up. It's hard on all of them, the heat of day and cold of night, the constant walking, the concern about running out of supplies, and Trevor making them stop once every hour so they can rest. Aleks can remember making the trip to Novac on his own years ago from much further than Brett and Trevor's house, and it taking him just under two days to get there.

This time, they're not having the best of luck.

Nights are spent mostly awake, restless and hungry and hoping tomorrow brings something good. Aleks keeps his distance from the others, listens instead to Trevor and Brett laugh and watches them lean into each other as they laugh. James initiates conversation with Aleks most afternoons, sitting beside him and offering a bottle of water or half a plate of food. It's not much but Aleks takes it, and hopes his smile is as thankful as he wants it to be.

“Pretty cold, huh?” James says, every night. Aleks follows it up with, “Yeah, can barely feels my hands,” every night. It becomes a routine, a dance around one another until one of them breaks the silence and starts to talk properly. Usually James, staring at his two friends or the fire or the blankness of the nighttime wasteland. Sometimes, at Aleks, at his blonde hair and ridiculous excuse for facial hair growing in and his dirty shirt and shaking hands and exhausted eyes refusing to sleep.

It's the fifth night when he takes the empty can from Aleks’ hands, and the fork, and sets them beside him on his other side. Aleks watches, denying the shiver that rocks at his lower spine, and ignoring the hand that James accidentally lies on top of Aleks'. His palm is warm on the back of Aleks’ hand, curiously glancing over at James to gauge his reaction. For the most part, his face is clear, his eyes reflecting the distant fire, but there's a shy smile tugging at each corner of his mouth that he directs at Aleks for a moment.

“How far away you think we are from Novac?” he asks as Aleks forgets to breathe.

“Should probably get there tomorrow, kinda depends,” Aleks says after a moment, James’ hand shifting slightly to entwine with Aleks’ frozen fingers. “Trevor and Brett look like they're having fun, at least. That's nice for them.”

“They were friends when I met them,” James smiles. “That was, fuck, like three years ago now. Can't remember to the day, but they saved my ass from a couple of raider scum and I've been with them ever since. They're good people, you know. Real solid.”

Aleks nods, yawning helplessly into the cold air wrapped around them. He'll enjoy the chill while he can, knows it's a hell of a lot better than the heat they'll endure on their way to Novac. The desert and dryness makes it easy to get tired, and even though he's not entirely looking forward to going to Novac, a break from all this walking with a proper roof and some food would be nice. If someone doesn't notice him the moment he walks in, that is. Ramsey and his men likely already have word spread that they're looking for someone, and Aleks’ appearance isn't exactly easy to hide.

“Go sleep, asshole,” James says, his hand in Aleks’ gently squeezing. “I'll get Brett to take first watch, him and Trevor probably wouldn't mind the time together.”

“I'm not complaining, dude,” Aleks laughs, his hand suddenly cold as James lets it go. “Meet you there?”

“Yeah, just give me a sec to talk to these guys,” James replies, his hair messy as he runs a hand over the tied up front of his head. It's tidy compared to the curled, almost loose mess of his bun, but also endearing in a _James_ way. “We have the left room, I think.”

Aleks watches James walk away before he drags himself up, shaking dust and the days journey from his clothes and skin. His stomach is half full, his hair dirty but at least somewhat recently cleaned, and despite wearing the same clothes for the past five days that Trevor leant him, he doesn't feel too bad. Anxiety burrows itself uncomfortably in his chest- in his gut- and he's shaking from that and the chill, James’ laugh an echo for where he's ten metres away with his friends. The friends he loves, and the same friends that Aleks can't imagine will be too happy with his decision to stay. They're nicer than almost anyone else he's met out here, but he's still a stranger; James’ strange wasteland stray, and the map to Novac.

After tomorrow, after they arrive and can remember their way home, they're not going to need him anymore. He's already overheard their half-baked plans for after they deliver James’ package, the places they know their way to that they want to see, and the things they plan to do with the money they get from whoever's waiting for whatever James has. Deliver that, take the caps, and leave Aleks behind- Aleks isn't a mind reader but he can't imagine it going much differently to that.

He and James’ room for the night is the left one, a small bed with a decent mattress in the corner, an unshattered window, and cracked but stable floorboards. It's not as nice as James’ house with Brett and Trevor, though for an abandoned place in the wasteland it's better than some Aleks has stumbled upon in his years out here. The years before Ramsey, actually. When he was young and too smart to group up with anyone after what happened with Aron and his old friends at the Hub. It's better that way, even if he only recently figured out why.

“Brett said we might as well get comfortable for the night,” James says, appearing in the doorway behind Aleks. “He and Trevor will take watch tonight, want the time together just them. If that's all right and dandy with you, Aleksandr.”

“Yeah, dude,” Aleks says without hesitation, and turns from looking around the room to meet James’ steady gaze. “We leaving at dawn again?”

“I reckon so, but they're a bit quiet about times,” James, leaning away from the doorframe to step closer. “Goddamn useless punks if you ask me, not knowing what they're doing. I don't know about you but I'd like to get to Novac and have a dinner that doesn't come out of some dumb tin or can.”

“I wouldn't mind a proper bed, this thing's a piece of shit,” Aleks mumbles, and his face heats up with James’ low laugh. “I’m pretty damn tired, be nice to get to have a good sleep for once.”

James moves forward then, his calloused hands settling on Aleks’ face, and there’s a moment where Aleks can do nothing but allow himself to be pushed back. James’ lips are warm and chapped from the sun, and his jacket is unzipped so it brushes against Aleks’ arms as he moves them to settle on either side of James’ waist, fingers grasping desperately at the fabric so he can pull James closer. There’s a second where he doesn’t know if they should do this, but James presses their foreheads together as he breathes, his lips tingling against Aleks’, and Aleks’ doesn’t know if he’s ever been so certain of wanting something this much in his entire life.

“Aleksandr?” James whispers, his voice hoarse and eyes tired as he meets Aleks’ gaze. “Is this-”

Aleks allows the hands bunching at James’ shirt to press cold fingertips to the skin of James’ hips, inciting a soft gasp that has James moving to kiss again again. He’s less hesitant, less desperate like he’s going to take his time, his lips against Aleks’ with a little bit more purpose, one of the hands on Aleks’ face moving to Aleks’ hair, to the back of his neck. It’s gentle and unpracticed, hot where their bodies are shifting against each other, and despite how unsure they both are, Aleks isn’t sure he could stop this of his own free will if he tried.

James towers over him, Aleks’ back lowered into the soft of the mattress that makes up the majority of the bed, and Aleks clings to whatever part of James he can. Heated kisses missing lips and getting the corner of James’ mouth instead, the hands still settled on James’ hips slowly sliding the shirt up James’ body, stopping at his ribs as Aleks bunches all the fabric in one hand, his other moving between their bodies to rest against the side of James’ neck. He shouldn’t, he knows, and James is delicate in a way Aleks has never learned to be, all open mouthed kisses and soft, big hands, his hair falling from the bun he has it forced into.

He doesn’t try to move away, just further fuses into the kisses Aleks is returning, one knee between Aleks’ legs and the other beside Aleks, the angle meaning they don’t need to worry about the awkward ideal of accidentally bumping noses. Their faces brush, noses against cheeks and eyelashes blinking together, and James murmurs something unintelligible into Aleks’ lips that sounds like an apology and an explanation for the sorrow Aleks can taste in the kiss.

They’ve been through a lot to get here, days and days of not knowing what the future holds, and Aleks figures they deserve this; they can regret this later if they want, for now, James’ skin is soft against Aleks’ hands and his fingers carding through Aleks’ hair have Aleks coming undone beneath him.

“You should leave,” James whispers, his forehead brushing against Aleks’ cheek as he stops the kiss. “Tomorrow. You should leave and go where you were going to go.”

Aleks’ teeth click together in his mouth, his hands shaking and his legs feeling unlike his own. He doesn’t know what to say, just meets James’ eyes as they move their heads to make the contact, something unreadable but sorry in James’ gaze. Aleks doesn’t want to know what it means, or if this an apology for making him like him when they both know they can’t stay together in Novac when Brett and Trevor have plans that include only one of them. James will go with his friends, and Aleks will be left behind like he always is because it’s better to not have him around, and because he knows he’s better off not dragging people down with him and the mistakes he’s made.

This is not a mistake, even though James kisses like he’s only familiar with need and regret, and with Aleks wrecked beneath him. Aleks wants to get used to this and he’s worried he will and then it’ll be taken from him, but he’s willing to give it the try it deserves.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Aleks reassures, and James’ voice breaks as he says, “Yeah, yeah, I know. I just wish you’d listen to me this time, Aleksandr.”

His eyes burn and his legs move to accommodate James and let him closer, and despite everything, James slowly takes it, presses further and leaves Aleks shaking when he kisses him again. Aleks will take this- James, kissing or not kissing- over anything else, because unlike Ramsey, James is looking out for him, and they trust each other, and there’s a reason James didn’t ditch him all those nights ago in the wasteland. He could’ve, when he found his friends, but he didn’t, and Aleks is choosing to cling to that.

“I don’t want to listen right now,” he mumbles into the kiss, James making a choked noise in the back of his throat as he deciphers the words. One of his hands pauses where it was slipping under Aleks’ shirt, fingers soft and like the sun where they’re touching against the flesh around Aleks’ ribs. Aleks shivers, and doesn’t want to close his eyes in case he misses something, but James’ lips find their way to his neck, and his eyelids close as he arches his back, shifting his body into James, craving the touch. It’s been a long time since he had anyone or anything like this, his movements led more by want than careful calculation. And James is soft, all gentle kisses and hands against skin but not grabbing, and the hand partly in Aleks’ hair not tugging, but resting there like it’s meant to be there.

Aleks wants this to last, he does, but he knows better than anyone that the wasteland and all it has to offer doesn’t grant your wishes, even if you say please. James whispers against Aleks’ collarbone, Aleks gasping with his arm moving to let James close, his hand settling in the loose curls of James’ hair.

He wants this to last, wants to do this again when it’s driven more by something other than need and desperation; he wants it to be under better circumstances, where James doesn’t kiss him and he doesn’t think, ‘I hope you outlive me, because I’ll be dead soon and I’ll be scared to go, and I’ve already lost too many people that I know I’ll never see again.’

“Aleks, you have tell me if this is okay,” James breathes, his lips making the journey from Aleks’ neck to his lips, to gentle settle against them and allow Aleks to do more of the work this time. He doesn’t have to say it’s okay, James relaxing when Aleks kisses back and stops thinking so hard, focusing more on James in his proximity and the warmth pooling, and how his fingers don’t know what to do other than curl and grab at James’ clothing to force him closer.

“It’s okay, this is- fucking better than okay,” he says, and his voice does not sound like his own.

_I hope you outlive me._

Aleks has the sense to want that, at least.

_

Outside, the steady beginnings of soft rain.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!! the next chapter is going to be a lot of fun to write and i hope you're enjoying this! thank u for reading  ♡.
> 
> tumblr, as always, is 'gavinsaleks' ! 
> 
> \- rachel.


	7. the lights go out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What's that?”
> 
> “Welcome to Novac, Trevor,” James says.

 

 

> _A bitter, broken thing,_
> 
> _my heart,”_

— H.D., from Collected Poems; “Cassandra”

 

* * *

 

 

.

 

**chapter seven**

_the lights go out._

 

.

 

For a smallish desert town, Novac is unbelievably hard to find. If Aleks didn't already know the landmarks to look for, he might find it impossible to come across; it took longer than he'll admit to become completely familiar with the surrounding land. The large statue in the distance is kind of a dead giveaway, as are the quiet sounds of moving civilization in the distance, the radroaches that appear out of nowhere that Brett near instantly takes down.

“My hero,” Trevor mocks, as James relaxes and leans against his side.

For reasons Aleks can't figure out, other than possibly their encounter the night previous, James is quiet. Not around his friends but around Aleks, gravitating to Trevor for help walking instead of his usual place at Aleks’ side. It's hurtful, has Aleks considering whether or not he's overstayed his welcome and this is nothing more than a subtle hint that he should go his own way. Still, Aleks has a sneaking suspicion that he'll find it a bit hard to completely disregard certain events. James told him last night that he should leave, and Aleks hadn't thought much of it in the moment but now it's almost as clear as the giant dinosaur statue that resides in Novac.

The one that Trevor spots first, mid conversation with Brett when he pauses, points at a large statue with a, “What's that?”

“Welcome to Novac, Trevor,” James says, his amusement clear in his voice.

Aleks falls into step beside where they're standing and staring, days and days of walking and they've finally made it. Part of him has to wonder if the sight of the town would've looked better from far away, after turning his back on these people. These people, being Brett and Trevor, and _James_. Maybe he should just leave, after all; maybe they'd all be better off that way.

He thinks that's true, until James reaches out a hand to squeeze his and smiles at him, warm and the sun making something pretty out of his face. It's hard not to notice everything about him now, like a lightened streak of blonde in his hair that's slightly faded, a small dimple that appears from time to time, how tight his grip is and how the very notion of touch makes Aleks’ heart run a marathon or two in his chest.

“This really it?” James asks, quietly, and Aleks nods with a smile, accepts the warmth of James’ hand on his shoulder as he squeezes gently. “Look at you,  huh? Hotshot guide. Got us all the way to Novac in record time. Give yourself a pat on the back for that.”

“Nothing too record breaking,” Aleks yawns, and leans into James awkwardly as James moves to accommodate for his presence against him. “'less we're going for the fucking longest amount of days it took to get here. _That_ we'd win, no doubt. Six days, or whatever it took- you and your friends are babies. I could've done that in two on my own.”

Brett snorts, and his amusement is all too clear. Trevor is watching like he's going to be sick, pale and shaky, and James casts him what Aleks reads as a cautionary glance. Aleks hasn't known them for long enough to decode their every movement and expression, but he recognises the code of silent communication; he and Aron had mastered it, their own private language without words. Eddie, too, but his was more how open he was with his looks, how Aleks could trace every emotion or thought in his features.

Again, that sinking, worrying feeling. It's familiar, the anxiety that means sweaty palms and hollowed stomachs, and Aleks doing his best to ignore it. James looking back at him, tired but happy, settles it briefly, even though Aleks knows it'll return in a few hours. Or now, outside Novac where Ramsey likely has men waiting and keeping an eye out, and how possible it is that James and his friends could see something. A poster, a warning, a look someone knowing gives Aleks; anything and everything could go wrong right now.

“Shall we?” Brett says, hands clapped together, and Aleks can't quite find it in himself to turn and run when James slides their hands together with a smile.

“That dinosaur gives me the creeps,” Trevor says, eyes half closed against the sun. “Like, ew, dude.”

“Want me to ask them to get rid of it?” James laughs, the vibration shaking his whole body.

“Whatever, man,” Trevor mumbles, face red as Brett nudges him back to life. “Why couldn't they have something friendlier, you know? A butterfly or tree, something. Not 'hi welcome to our town, here's a statue of an old carnivorous creature that tried to killed our ancestors.”

“You're overthinking this,” Aleks corrects, and James glances at him amused. “It's from pre-war, dude, it's not supposed to make sense. How else would people know this was Novac? A big flashing sign?”

There's a debated moment of silence before they start laughing, settling Aleks’ building and slowly negating nerves. Brett, especially, cheeks lit up with humour as he slings an arm around Trevor and tries to ruffle Trevor's wind-messed hair, their feet stumbling on loose sand and rocks as James watches the tussle fondly. This is very them, from what Aleks has learnt from the week or less that Aleks spent with them; the teasing, the affection, the constant laughter sitting in wait in their mouths. It's obvious they love each other, and Aleks wishes he wasn't so terrified of messing this up for them.

“What would it say?” Trevor asks hesitantly.

Aleks grins, tongue in cheek, and says, “'No big dinosaur, just sign.’”

“How would they fit that on the sign?” Brett laughs.

“Write really small,” Aleks answers, and James tugs slightly on his arm as he laughs. Whatever anxiety Aleks once had gives way to something more hopeful, more willing to this openness he's searched for for years that he hasn't had since Aron.

The town is quiet as they quietly approach, smiles fading on their faces. Despite its abandoned appearance, it's obviously occupied, from the lights still accidentally flickering around buildings to the unmistakable look of human footprints clear in the sand. It's nice, in comparison to the heat and nothingness of the wasteland, but there are reasons it was Aleks’ least favourite place to visit as a kid. It was a long trip to go for something so awkward and empty-looking, and the dinosaur seemed a lot more ominous when he was a kid who spoke more Russian than anything.

“Usually like this?”

Aleks glances at Brett, at his eyes on the dinosaur instead of the actual buildings, and shrugs even though he can't see it. “A little busier when I was younger but the same idea, I guess,” he offers, Brett's eyes meeting his with a small nod.

“Trevor and I are going to check out that dinosaur if you guys want to get our room for the night,” Brett says, after a moment deemed long enough for subject change passes. “You mind carrying our shit there?”

“Sure thing, man,” James replies, slipping his hand from Aleks’ and wiping it on his jeans before he takes Brett's bag from his. “Aleks? You wanna grab Trev's?”

Trevor passes it over with a barely muffled yawn and a thank you, his hands warm where they accidentally brush Aleks’. He stares for too long, only managing to break his gaze on Aleks when Brett says his name, hooks an arm into his as an invite to start walking. The dinosaur is about the same distance as the motel they'll be staying at, but James still hesitates where he is, until Aleks walks up beside him and says, “C'mon.”

The town, and James, is just as quiet as before as they walk towards the motel, past the likely occupied buildings around the place. Carrying two full bags is heavy, Aleks’ footsteps lingering behind James, who doesn't seem to be having any difficulty with the heavy weight of combined backpacks.

They get two rooms, and James throws his bag on the bed, breathes heavy as he finally gets to sit down. For the few moments, that is, that it takes for him to realise they only got one set of room keys and they'll need another, and he and Aleks tiredly walk down towards the reception, to the friend of James’, Joe, who's so cheery it hurts. Trevor would probably love him, Aleks thinks, ignores the looks he's getting and how much he wants to be somewhere safe and hidden again.

“Yo, you got the keys? I'll give 'em to Brett and Trevor when they get back,” Aleks asks, and James, distracted at the front desk, manages, “I threw my bag upstairs, check in that.”

Aleks takes the stairs one at a time, careful, James’ near muted conversation with the owner drowned out as he reaches the second level. Their room is number 12, marked with a small gold number pressed to the door that sways when Aleks takes the doorknob and swings it open with a creak. True to James’ word, his bag is on the bed and Aleks wastes no time ruffling through it. No keys, but his fingers pull at a folded piece of paper that makes his whole stomach flip in itself, shaking hands unfolding it before dropping it.

His name, the word 'wanted’ printed across the top, and Aleks drops it gently to the bed. Everything feels wrong, _wrong, wrong_. His hands falling back into the bag and freezing as they recognise the telltale cool of a gun, dropping it on the bed with the same shaky disbelief of the poster.

“Aleks, wait-”

Aleks stares at the poster, at the death sentence of his name next to a gun sitting on the bed, thinks too little about how James’ footsteps are quiet as he approaches.

“Look, Aleksandr, it’s not what it looks like. I can explain, just let me explain,” James says, and Aleks can hear an unfamiliar tone in his voice. “I can-”

“What the fuck is this, James?”

“You know that package, the one I was paid to deliver?” James tries, hands outspread to Aleks as if he's worried he'll try to run away before he slowly settles them on either of Aleks' arms.

Aleks struggles against James, eyes burning and legs tired, and sudden realisation stinging in his chest. It makes too much sense and not much at all, his voice rough as he speaks: “What the fuck does that-”

“ _You_ . You're the package, Aleks. I'm a mercenary,” James rushes, and Aleks is suddenly aware of how hard it is to breathe with this new crushing weight on his chest. “You were my job, the one Ramsey hired me to do. I-I don't have a choice here, or much of one. I either turn you in or I end up dead, and I don't know about you but one of those sounds a lot more appealing than the other. I… they'll hurt Brett and Trevor if I don't, you know Ramsey better than anyone.” James struggles, all breath and barely formed words, says, “You're my package, I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_.”

“I don't- you're turning me in? To fucking Ramsey? You're fucking turning me in?”

“You’re a job, that's all! A stupid job, yeah. I didn't mean to start liking you, and if I hadn't have been shot, I would have delivered you to Ramsey straight up. But you saved my life, dude! _You_.”

Aleks inhales shakily, his injured knee choosing this opportune time to start aching. Compared to the rain of last night, the desert is bone dry, almost as if it hadn't been watered for a while less than a whole day ago. With the lack of wet and the scorching sun, James’ lips are chapped and cracked, as with Aleks, the kiss they find themselves in too harsh a reminder of these days they've spent in the wasteland. James is gentle, but his fingers are tight where they're gripping Aleks, who is kissing back despite the presence of tears on his cheeks.

“I told you to leave and you didn't listen,” James murmurs, lips buzzing against Aleks. “You never listen, anyone ever told you that? Pretty lucky I do, tell you that much.”

Aleks pauses, clings to James because he's worried he'll fall if he doesn't. All this time avoiding Ramsey and his men, and one of them was under his nose, under his clothes and at his side, for the past week and more. It's terrifying, has those familiar shakes and panicked unable to keep still hands, focusing on the worried labour of James’ breath as he says Aleks’ name.

“Aleksandr?” he tries, rushed in an exhale, as Aleks’ legs finally give out beneath him. “I know it wasn't you, dude, I know- I'll tell Ramsey, we'll figure this out. I can-”

“You would turn me in?” Aleks manages, suddenly hates that loose curl betraying James where he tried to tie it back. “That's why you brought me here! You were going to hand me off to Ramsey to die and take the prize money to get you and your friends a nice place in New Vegas, or whatever. Asshole!”

James laughs, but it's bitter and muffled into Aleks’ shoulder, his words small as he says, “Innocent people don't run. That's what Ramsey said.”

“Do I look like I'm running, James?” Aleks snaps, blocking out the slightly chaotic surroundings of outside as his eyes catch James’.

“What? You think this was easy for me?”

“Yes!”

“ _Yes_?” James growls.

His hand curls rough in the front of Aleks’ shirt, his breath warm and his jaw clenched as he gets closer. There's an edge to his voice, one that has Aleks subtly looking for an escape in the form of an unlocked door or open window. The merchant's boy, the New Harbour ghost, Ramsey's mess of a makeshift protege- Aleks can't die like this, not after everything he's been through. All the ghouls and raiders and times he almost failed, and he can't let himself get captured and killed by one of the only two people he's let himself trust since Aron.

James, and Ramsey. That's it. He's not going to die like this.

“Fuck you,” James whispers, fingers carefully rubbing the fabric of Aleks’ shirt.

“Excuse me?”

“Fuck you, Aleks,” James says, confidence gaining. “You wouldn't be here if it weren't for me, and now you have the cheek to throw that back in my face.” He's pissed, though somehow calm, harshness fading to a hollowness that Aleks knows is defeated. “Can we just… have a civilised conversation? For once?”

Aleks barely finds it in him to nod, eyes regretfully pinned on the unlocked front door at his left. He could make it if he needed to, but he'll give himself a few minutes to see where this conversation goes before he jumps the gun and throws himself back into the willing, and waiting, clutches of whatever's out there. In Novac, in the wasteland, in his future- he's gotten so used these past few days to James’ company that suddenly reminding himself it's not permanent stings. Everywhere, something he can't ignore as he lifts hooded eyes to James’ widened, worried, gentle gaze.

“You could've told me,” Aleks lies, ignores the loose string of hair brushing him as James gets close enough to lean their foreheads together.

“As if,” James laughs, empty. “Would've run first chance you get, I know your type.”

“Yeah, you're probably right,” Aleks agrees, and releases a previously held in sob he attempts to disguise as a laugh to replicate James’. “Knowing me, I'd've taken all your shit too. Whatever I could carry, leave your bitch ass there to fend for itself.”

“I tried to warn you,” James says, and it's said in a way that makes Aleks question if it's even for him. “Told you to leave and you didn't, told you to listen and you didn't- what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Aleks breathes out slowly, softly nudging against James so he looks up, shifts his head to an angle that allows Aleks to kiss him. It's a lot less heated than the other night, but their lips are still hot, sliding into each other as Aleks’ brain clings to the distraction of this. The front door is unlocked but he'd have to make it down the stairs, the window is open but they're on the second level, the gun is on the bed but Aleks’ whole body freezes at the thought of having to use it.

He's never been the best at trusting, at not looking for every exit he can possibly find, but with James he got awfully close. Not quite, but he can't remember the last time he seriously considered leaving, the past few days aside. Besides, he was never really going to leave; he could tell himself he would, but deep down he couldn't, not when he was finally learning how to get used to something good. Something good that is only the result of a mercenary who failed at his job, who was supposed to capture Aleks and bring him to Ramsey for an execution but didn't. For whatever reason that Aleks is still trying to figure out.

“I shouldn't have brought you here,” James says, and Aleks can hear his own heartbeat quicken in his chest.

“Why did you?” he prods, cautiously.

“Pretty popular mercenary, not too hard for people to figure out what- _who-_ you care about and try to use that against you,” James smiles, sad, and Aleks understands instantly, recalls something similar James said earlier.

“Brett and Trevor?”

“Yeah,” James sighs, staring at Aleks’ hand as he carefully intertwines their fingers. “Figured I could bargain with Ramsey, prove you were innocent then take my friends and go. Did my job, finding you- that money would be mine, as long as I could show him I had you.”

Aleks breathes deep, eyes sliding closed as he leans into James, hands awkwardly finding each other. “And now?”

“And now, I think I might've fucked up.”

“Ramsey was going to meet you here?” Aleks asks, focuses on the distant sound of footsteps down a hall they've closed the door on. He's trying not to think the worst, to assume this with James is an act to gain his trust before he soon throws him under the bus. Aleks will die if Ramsey gets him, guilty or not- guilty people don't run, unless they're scared and confused and trying not to cry as their closest and only friend shoves a gun into their chest.

Guilty people run if the only home they've had in years is suddenly small and collapsing onto them, and they have the inkling of a premonition that they're going to die. That seems like a pretty good reason, in Aleks’ opinion, and the ache in his knee begins again like his mind conjured up the pain just to remind him of that day. He's not guilty, not of betraying Ramsey and his town, at least. If there's one thing Aleks knows, it's loyalty; and love, though he's slowly discovering that it's a lot harder than he used to think it was.

“Today, tonight, at the statue of that lizard-”

“Dinosaur.”

“ _Dinosaur_ ,” James corrects, feigning annoyance as a smile at each corner of his mouth betrays him. “A quick execution and I get the stacks I wanted for all my hard work. It was Brett and Trevor's idea but I'm the mercenary, I've already killed so many people that when I met you… what made this one different, y'know? You saved my life and looked after me, and I'm just a mercenary, not a heartless pre-war assassin. Bullshit, if y'ask me.”

“What changed your mind about it?” Aleks asks, and feels James’ chest collapse with a heavy exhale.

James reaches out distracted to brush Aleks’ hair out of his eyes, overgrown and mostly brown but lightened by the sun, says, “I was lying to you the whole time, making everything up like I always do. And you didn't suspect a damn thing- saved my life, told me your name, led me here and didn't even ask for nothing in return. I knew when I met you that I couldn't, but we need the money so I couldn't exactly say no. Brett would kill me if he knew I was stupid enough to tell you all this.”

“Ramsey's gonna think it was me forever,” Aleks says, blinks away the tired and upset burning in his eyes. “He'll never stop looking. You should turn me in.”

“Aleksandr-”

“James.”

There's a rap at the door, Trevor's voice soft as he calls out to them through the painted wood. James’ hands curve in Aleks’ shirt, holding him in place, and Aleks closes his eyes with a sigh, an exhausted realisation that he can't do this to James. He either turns himself in to die or he runs, and he's always only ever been good at one of those things; it's really not too hard to. He should've left from the start, like he'd originally planned: patch up James, visit James’ friends, part ways (re: ditch James) right before Novac.

“Yeah, Trevor?” James calls back, and his voice sounds unused and shaken. His hand going to his mouth for a moment as he clears his throat.

“Brett and I found a bar,” Trevor explains. “We're going to get a drink, if you and Aleksandr wanna join us. To celebrate, or something. Brett's words, so, uh, whatever. Dude?”

“Yeah, we'll think about it, tell Brett I say thanks,” James continues, and Aleks tries not to focus on how messed up this all is.

“Yup, sure thing,” Trevor replies, the sound of his fingers gently tapping a tune into the frame of their doorway disappears as footsteps continue past their room. Aleks can breathe again.

James inhales loud, his eyes cast back at Aleks who meets them without a word. It doesn't take for Aleks to be a genius to piece everything together, how the bar is code for handing him off to Ramsey at nightfall, how Trevor and Brett are willing to do this despite how well he once thought they were getting along. So, it hurts, and Aleks grabs James’ hands in his own to push them away, to stand as James does nothing but watch him in curiousity. Aleks doesn't look at him, reaches instead for the poster James has been carrying the entire time they've been together, at the small notes written on it in handwriting that must be James'.

 _he didn't do it??,_ is written messily and underlined a few times for emphasis, Aleks’ eyes gazing over the rest. _says name is marchant?,_ sits in the upper left corner and looks the oldest, like it was the first thing James thought to write. It's as amusing as it is confusing, the warmth of Aleks’ breath stolen by the cool desert breeze letting itself in through the window, and he lets it take the poster as he loosens his grip on the worn bit of paper.

Suddenly, this room feels too small.

“We can go, if you wanna,” James says. “You, me, Trevor, Brett- I'll find a job elsewhere, tell Ramsey you're dead.”

“Tell your friends I wanna go to the bar early,” Aleks chokes out, pretends he can't see the look that accommodates itself on James’ face. “Always fancied dying at sunset.”

“You want me to rat you out?” James blanches, pulling himself to his feet and steadying the slight sway of his feet by using the bed. His fingers brush the gun and he freezes, voice torn as he says, “You really don't listen, do you? Huh?”

Aleks tucks his hands into the safety of his pockets and shrugs, the orange of the setting sun silhouetting James, keeping his tone as even as possible when he says, “I don't want to spend the rest of my life running, James. It fucking sucks. I've been doing it my whole life, I'm tired of this shit now, just tell your friends.”

“Aleksandr-”

“You really think I didn't betray Ramsey? Prove it.”

James doesn't move towards the door like Aleks wants, instead gets close enough for Aleks to see the aching brown of his eyes, the small frizz of his hair, the details in his skin that Aleks has never not noticed. It's familiar, which is nice, but hurts, because Aleks knows what's going to happen next and he knows it's not going to be easy. Nothing ever is, except how simple it is to accept the kiss James presses to his lips, the calloused pads of fingers brushing his jawline. It's tiring, this, but he pushes back with enough force for James to hum into the kiss, one hand grabbing tight at Aleks’ shoulder.

“This goodbye?” James whispers, not giving Aleks time to respond before he's initiating another kiss. It's not nearly as good as their first but Aleks will take it, because he's probably never going to get this again and he's not fool enough to say no to this.

“Go,” Aleks says, and for every past second where James has been close, Aleks has been committing inch by inch of his features to memory in case it's the last time he sees him like this. Up close, careful and cautious and not the mercenary Ramsey sent but James. Just James.

James laughs disappointed, the outside of the window visible as he ducks his head to press to Aleks’ neck. It's warm, sad, and Aleks thinks of every opportunity James had to turn him in and doesn't know whether to be thankful or torn.

They separate after a few minutes pass that seem like an entire lifetime, minutes and minutes of helpless bodies warm together, and Aleks staring anywhere but at the sun. It's too bright, hurts his eyes even as it sets, and he remembers each moment he almost died and can only really chalk his survival up to James or his friends, which is one of many reasons he wants to take James up on his offer and run away with all of them. The only thing stopping him is that he knows no one who lies to Ramsey gets away with it, and asking James to do that would be asking him to risk he, Trevor and Brett's lives.

Aleks just can't, but he can step back and separate himself from James. James, who lifts his head and smiles though it's tight and fake; a parody of genuinity that stings with realisation.

“They're in room 20, I'll let them know,” he says, eyes not leaving Aleks’ until he's past him and out the door.

Aleks breathes and it skips, shuddery and cold, his legs moving him from where he is to the gun on the bed. He slides it quickly into his waistband and hides it with his shirt, turning towards the door before he walks out, opposite direction of James and down the stairs of the motel to the foyer. Joe smiles at him politely and Aleks waves awkwardly as he moves away from him, out the open front doors of the motel and back out into the sand outside.

It's quiet and terrifying, and he can't help his shaking hands and uneven breathes as he walks, focuses his gaze on the wasteland and all it has to offer. Which, isn't much, but he'll take death by radroaches over death by the few people he once trusted deciding to stab him in the back. They both have their reasons and Aleks hates them even more for how hard he finds it to actually hate them. His fingers reach and grab his knife, fading E on it and all, as he starts the trek to wherever will take him.

The Hub, mostly gone now but full of raiders that would probably take Aleks in if he proved he could be useful. Anything but alone, anything but a mercenary. He doesn't have it in him to do either of those things, all he needs is a person or two looking for a helping hand or someone willing to do their dirty work for a quick buck.

It's warm as he walks, trying his hardest to keep his back against Novac and everything he's leaving behind there. Except, he hears his name whistled in the wind and can briefly see James outside the motel, glancing around, and a group of people leaning against the dinosaur statue. He was meant to die there, to be there right now with a bullet in his skull and nothing but the sand to bid him goodbye. The more he thinks about it- how easily he trusted James, how James could do all that knowing that Aleks would end up dead after they reached Novac- the easier it is to keep walking.

Walking, and walking, and paying more attention to the cold gun pressing into his skin instead of any future plans. He has nothing and no one, but The Hub will take anyone in. Only the worst of people fair well there now, after they drove out Jordan and Dan, and after Eddie and Seamus supposedly died, and Aleks stopped visiting because raiders decided they liked it there. They'll take him in and even though he'll be alone, he won't have to be on his own; that's all he can ask from the world now.

All at once, he wishes he had Aron here, or Eddie, or James. If the wasteland wasn't against him, maybe they would be. Or maybe everyone he cared about wouldn't be dead, or in James’ case, a man hired to take Aleks in to be executed by Ramsey.

Alone again.

Well,  _fuck._

“You're doing fine, Aleksandr,” Aleks tells himself, keeping his eyes cast against the sun as he canvasses the mess of terrain before him. It's painful on his legs but he has no other choice but to keep going, voice strained: “You're fucking… fine.”

He's really not fine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are, way longer than i thought it would take me to write this. yikes™ but we're almost at the end and i've been waiting for so long to write this part that i hope it lives up to what i wanted. also shoutout to the person whose comment i just saw on the last chapter who guessed what was going to happen. i'm so sorry gdfekfjfk. and apologies for any typos, i'm a mess rn :/
> 
> thank u for reading this far, i hope u enjoy :D and catch me on tumblr @gavinsaleks !
> 
> \- rachel.


	8. names forgotten and reinvented.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James could've come with him, and maybe in another life Aleks would've let him, but now he's glad he didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, i'm crying????? this fic has been such a journey and i'm so overwhelmed by actually finishing it. it's been so much fun writing this and seeing people's reactions to it, and this chapter took three rewrites with three very different events and endings, but i've just finished this and it's absolutely the chapter and ending i was trying to write. 
> 
> i want to give a very special thank you to paox over on tumblr who drew some incredibly beautiful art for this fic (that you can find [here!)](https://paox.tumblr.com/post/175339108404/he-was-raised-by-a-group-of-weapon-vendors-too) that had me crying genuine tears at midnight a few days ago. their art was so encouraging while writing this and i can't thank them enough.
> 
>  ♡. i hope you enjoy this, and thank you for reading. when i started this i had no clue whether i'd finish it, so writing a 7k last chapter is so insane to me. wow. ily guys, thank you for commenting and leaving kudos, and the people on tumblr who were so unbelievably kind to me. i appreciate it so much!! 
> 
> as always, all typos are mine. i'm a mess but i do my best
> 
> \- rachel.

 

> _“Wanting it, wanting / with all my hunger this anguish, / this knowing in the body / the grim odds we’re up against, / wanting it real.”_
> 
> — Denise Levertov, from _To Stay Alive; “Entr’acte”_
> 
>  

.

 

**chapter 7**

_names forgotten and reinvented._

 

.

 

Aleks’ hands find an unsteady hold in a gap between a few rocks, his legs burning with the effort it takes to continue pushing himself forward. In the distance, the sunset turns to night, James’ plans turn to dust, Aleks’ future turns to uncertainty. Once again, for the second time in less than two weeks, he's completely on his own; people he once thought of as friends have turned their backs on him-- did long before they even met, which is almost enough of a harsh thought to make his body give up on trying to escape.

People he trusted were willing to earn his trust only to kill him, were willing to… maybe it was genuine, James’ hands and lips and muffled ‘don’t go to Novac’ only yesterday, a memory that's going to haunt Aleks for more than one reason. James tried to tell him and he didn't listen, and something about remembering the intimacy of it makes it harder for Aleks to will himself further on.

It's getting dark and he has nothing, no one but himself and this ghost of an old best friend who he can't forget even after all these years. Maybe James will become that, too, in a few years if Aleks is still alive, a fading point in time that Aleks will never stop being able to think about. James and his dumb face and his dumb hair, and the heartbreaking tone in his voice as he tried to avoid a proper goodbye, only moments after Aleks realised he hadn't been his friend all that time.

Or, maybe he had been. Ramsey aside, James didn't have to do all that; Aleks thinks about last night, about how warm James’ body is and how right it felt when Aleks didn't know better, and it's almost enough to stop him from yelling out when he slips and hits his knee on a jagged edge of rock.

It's a close-mouthed scream, a hand balled into a fist as he shakes and inhales sharp through his nose. His eyes water and the world sways briefly in his vision, the sun quickly being swallowed by the horizon and making it dark in a way he hasn't experienced since the night he ran away from Ramsey, the same one in which he met James. Everything hurts, his whole body wanting nothing more than to collapse and give him a break, despite knowing he has no option but to keep pressing on.

It's harsh on Aleks’ leg, the walking and steep of the hill he's trying to traverse, but he has no option. Just has to keep going, even if he doesn't think he can, he has to. It's this or Ramsey finding him and killing him, or James doing the same, and the thought is encouraging-- for now. If Aleks wants to make it to the Hub, he's going to need a bigger motivator than doing it because he has to.

If he manages to make it out of Novac, that is. He's hours away from anything or anyone, and a long way away from the Hub, the only place he can think of where people won't bother with him or recognise him. The only people who go there now are raiders or criminals, or someone looking to hire one of those criminals to help them get somewhere. It'd be nice to have that normalcy he once knew, without having to watch his back or worry about making friends who want to betray him.

Say what you will about the Hub but the people there are nothing but loyal, nothing but reliable if you've established yourself with them; Aleks could do with a little of that, if he's being honest. Figuring out how to get there with nothing will be hard, but it'll be worth it in a few days time when he gets there. There, where James will never find him.

_I shouldn't have brought you here._

He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but he did. And now he and Aleks both have to pay the price for it.

_

Days of walking leave Aleks’ feet sore, his eyes tired and dry, and he can't help the way his hands can't quite keep still. It's nerves and fear of getting caught, his gun always close by in case someone stumbles upon him, or if Ramsey knows what happened back at Novac and decides to pay a visit. These days are warm, hard to walk through considering the heat and the wasteland's habit of spontaneous sandstorms in these parts.

It definitely hasn't helped with his already injured leg, the way the ache of it is a painful but temporary distraction from the burning in his muscles.

He's made it further on his own today than he did in nearly four whole days with James, Trevor and Brett. It's nice to know he's making good ground and progress, though it's uncomforting to realise if it's taken him, injured and dehydrated, two days to get here then anyone who was sent after him might not be far behind.

It's why, despite the cold that makes him sit against a wall with his knees pulled up to his chest, he doesn't light a fire. He and James stayed in this room one night before Novac, on the way there after they'd left their house and Trevor had done what he could for Aleks’ knee. It's lonelier than he remembers, the quiet and the dark and the ominous sounds of people far off in the distance.

The howls and far away lights remind Aleks of so many moments in the past he wishes he could've done better; _that_ night with Aron, the night he went back to the Hub and found out Seamus and Eddie were more than likely dead, and, the night he met James. And, all those nights with James that followed that first one-- sitting together sleepless before sunrise, James probably thinking about how to turn Aleks in while Aleks had no clue, could do nothing but observe James and hope he'd be okay.

Things are complicated now, after everything. Aleks runs cold fingers through his dirty dark hair, thinks exactly that, and ignores the white of his breath that clouds his vision as he exhales. He's used to this already, but it doesn't make it any easier to handle, especially when he considers recent events and that familiar, almost constant, feeling settles in him. It's usually accompanied by shaking or sweaty hands, this time all that follows is the odd, empty need to cry.

He doesn't, because yells and the sound of people moving about is suddenly too obvious in the distance. It's enough to make him freeze for a few minutes following, anxiety eating at his insides as he prays to not be found. If he does, they'll kill him before he has time to do anything, and something about not having the opportunity to say goodbye to anyone at all doesn't sit well with him. Something about it being James who walks through that door and killing Aleks without a hint of remorse is even worse.

Aleks has been having dreams about it, if he's honest. Nightmares where he wakes up out of breath and tired already, and there's nothing he can do but glare around the odd emptiness of his surroundings and thank whatever god exists, if one does, that he can do this for a while longer. The waking up, not the nightmares; he wouldn't complain about getting to open his eyes in the morning and not see every horrible thing he did in his dreams.

He rubs his hands into his eyes, hoping to coax the need to rest out of them to avoid falling asleep accidentally. His hair falls into his face, his sleeves falling down to his elbows, and his skin isn't welcoming to the cold air.

It doesn't work, the trying to keep himself awake, but voices seeming closer from what can't be more than a few abandoned houses over does. Aleks can't consider even closing his eyes for longer than a necessary blink when if he does, it could mean almost certain death. He'll consider hiding if they get much closer, but for now he'll sit here in the cold and the dark, and terrified of every sound until the sun visits again and he can see his surroundings.

The light will make it easier for him to get around, which means it'll also make it easier for whoever these people are to find him. He'll focus more on it when the time comes, when he can put the time and energy into constructing a plan that isn't a concoction of half-assed and exhausted. There are some things he'll have to work out in case the moment arrives where they happen-- Ramsey finding him, someone finding him-- but he'll put time aside for them later. Right now, he just wants to know what he'll do if he gets found and they try to kill him, and by _they_ he means James.

Would he? Aleks doesn't know, but he was willing to throw Aleks to Ramsey once out of desperation, maybe he will again.

Aleks has killed before, he's not exactly okay with having to do it again. He's a fighter and a flee-er, not a murderer. He does what he has to do when he has to do it; with every part of him, he hopes the day never comes when James finds him, and Aleks has to decide between running again or killing him.

He doesn't know if it says more about his morality or his feelings for James that he doesn't think he could do it. Not when he considers that night, and the morning that followed where he woke up next to James and things felt unbelievably right in ways things haven't in years. James’ loose curls laid beneath him, across his face, and his body next to Aleks’ in the warm morning light, limbs tangled together and something less awkward in the air than Aleks expected.

If he could go back in time to when they met, he wonders if he'd be able to pick up the clues that led him here-- James mentioning his job and the package, the way he saved Aleks’ life multiple times in what once seemed heroic but now Aleks knows was because he needed to deliver him to Ramsey alive, and the days spent with Brett and Trevor who knew exactly what was going on. Looking back on it all aches, but it makes it less difficult for Aleks to continue with his plans to leave James and all of this behind.

James could've come with him, and maybe in another life Aleks would've let him, but now he's glad he didn't. Aleks is the only person he's ever needed, just himself and nothing else, and he'll spend the rest of his life convincing himself of that no matter how untrue he knows it is.

“Some people are better on their own,” Ramsey's past voice says, and Aleks wishes he could back in time and shake him by the shoulders and ask how it's at all possible for this loneliness to feel better than having someone. Anyone. A person. A family. A friend. A lover. A…

 _James_?

Aleks breathes warmth into his hands, hoping the heat of it will help unthaw his fingers from the position they're stuck in. There's nothing he can do for his burning legs or bruised heart, but he can warm up his hands and wait here until dawn and focus on his screaming body later. He's used to the long walks, the running and hiding, and neglecting even the most simple of self preservation, so this isn't anything new. What is new is the sharpness of betrayal, the way he can't keep still because despite leaving already, every one of his nerves wants to keep going until he can't. Until he's collapsing. Until he's somewhere that isn't here on his own.

When he gets to the Hub, in the end, he hopes he doesn't have to be alone again. It's been a good few years but he'll ask about Seamus and Eddie, and Dan and Jordan, and pray over and over again that he can find at least one familiar face in a sea of strangers.

He's not doing great but he's doing okay, and okay is as close to being alive that he can be. It's better than dead, and after today he's lucky he can say that he's breathing at all. He's lived for twenty-three years and this isn't the first thing to break his heart, certainly won't be the last either, but he wishes it had been easier; James let him get close, when he knew what was going to happen, and maybe for him Aleks’ death was a small price to pay for his friend's lives. Or maybe he really, truly made a mistake and didn't know how he was going to fix it. Even if it was hard to believe at the time, maybe he really did.

At the time Aleks has assumed James’ belief in him to be a lie, that he didn't care if Aleks was guilty of it or not, he was going to turn him in because it was his job. Thinking back on it, Aleks can't recall their conversation in anything but small snippets of an argument, but he remembers James was ready to stick up for Aleks had Aleks let him. He knows James might've if he'd asked instead of leaving as though it's the only thing he's talented at; it is, at this point. Leaving and being alone, things he's very accustomed to.

Despite everything, despite every part of his body that is refusing to acknowledge that it misses his touch, Aleks wishes James was here.

_

He makes it to the Hub a week and a half later, and every glance, every smile passed his way or job offer from a stranger, makes those weeks with James feel entirely like a dream.

A good or a bad one, Aleks hasn't yet figured out.

_

Aleks jerks awake, all laboured breath and shaking hands and pieces of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. The air is easier to breathe as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, remembering it was only a dream despite the phantom ache in his side and a sudden, sharp pain tightening his heart. It's been all the same these last few weeks, the falling asleep only to wake up screaming or to wake up not remembering what was so awful it woke him up-- he opens his eyes every time to the bustle of the Hub and the familiarity is calming, for a while.

It's been three weeks if his counting is right since he arrived here, accepting a job from a woman named Lindsey who needs help with a journey across the wasteland. Aleks riffled through her backpack when she left it unattended and there was no wanted poster, no letter or note or something to deem her untrustworthy, so he told her he'd help even though his breath stuck in his throat for a moment too long.

She offered fairly decent pay, enough that would buy Aleks food and supplies for a while longer before he'd have to start worrying about finding another job. It was hard finding something steady, and Lindsey had seen him sitting by himself near the water merchants-- they reminded him of growing up, of his parents, and it was nice to have that nostalgia for a picturesque few moments-- and sat down beside him. He'd been concerned, to say the least, but she introduced herself and offered her hand, and he'd taken an immediate liking to her.

Lindsey had been traveling on her own for a few years after being separated from her old friends. She'd known them for quite a while before they were attacked and lost each other, and she'd given up finding them until recently when she'd received news that they were somewhere around New Vegas. Naturally, her first instinct had been to find a capable hand who could serve as a guide and get her to them.

Aleks had been unsure at first, aware of the fact Ramsey was more than likely still looking for him and this could be a set-up, but he trusted her. For whatever reason, he knew he could; something bitter, unforgiving of his past mistakes, reminded him that he'd thought the same when he'd met James. It was right, of course, but he needed the money, and a couple days journey for enough caps to keep him fed for a few months was hard to turn down. So, he said yes, and she paid him half in advance as she passed him a map.

She didn't ask about him and he didn't ask about her, and they were okay with it. Aleks was alright with silence, as long as he had the guarantee of some company-- Lindsey wasn't exactly quiet, either, because she had an unbreakable habit of making Aleks laugh even when it was late and they were half-asleep, and had only just met. So, he trusts her, and he's not sure how much of that is because he's desperate to have _someone_ to trust.

That night they met, she stayed by his side and they watched the water, listened to the chatter of the merchants a few metres away. Now, she's hovering nearby packing her things. Her hands are paused in her bag, eyebrows furrowed, eyes glancing curious and concerned at Aleks still trying to wake up not far from her.

“You good?” she asks, and when Aleks manages a, 'yeah,’ she slowly breaks the gaze, something unsaid resting there instead.

They're supposed to be leaving in a few hours, after Lindsey's gotten all her things together and Aleks has said goodbye to the few people around here he knows. He'll be back, unless he dies which he's trying not to think about, but it just feels right to say something to the people here who have been helping him since he got here. Even before he arrived, when Asher and Anna stumbled across him on a barren stretch of road and offered for him to go with them to the Hub, and then introduced him to a few of their friends.

Good company to keep, loyal and giving without expecting anything in return. They had met Lindsey a few times in the past and could vouch for her, too, and that had helped soothe some of his nerves towards going alone with her to New Vegas. The situation of it was still raw in Aleks’ mind, the accompanying someone to find their friends and going to a city Aleks knows but not enough too recently. Everything reminds him of people he's trying to forget, memories he'd rather put in the past instead of dwelling on them, but it's much easier said than done.

He hadn't expected this again, to be on his own and at the Hub, of all places. Novac with James had been the plan, so Aleks is still getting used to trying to make a name for himself in one of the last places he thought he'd end up; all his previous future plans started with James and ended with James, and now Aleks doesn't have the luxury of that.

“You're doing that thing, again,” Lindsey says, and Aleks looks from his hands to her smile. “You’ll age prematurely, be careful.”

“Really, Lindsey? Insulting me in my own home?” Aleks replies, voice heavy with sleep.

“Technically, this is no one's home,” Lindsey points out, and Aleks rolls his eyes playfully at her. “But I'll keep that in mind for next time you complain about my cooking.”

Aleks can't help his own smile, and accepts his jacket when she tosses it to him. He took it off last night when it got too warm and Lindsey has a habit of putting his things aside for him, so when she also offers him his shoes with a pointed look at them by her ankle, Aleks isn't too surprised. She's only known him for a few days but Aleks likes her already, and finds it admittedly hard not to when she's as friendly as she is, with a tendency to make jokes and laugh at just about anything. It's nicer than Aleks would admit to her face, but Asher and Anna said about the same thing when he'd told them he'd met her.

They'd also said she was good company for long trips, when he'd finally told them yesterday that she'd offered him a job for a day or so. A journey to a place in New Vegas, for however long it took for he and Lindsey to make it there and find her friends so he could make his way back to the Hub. They smiled-- Anna, mostly, her shoulder bumping into Asher's to knock some life into him-- and said they'd see him when they got back, but they expected a goodbye before he left.

“You say goodbye?” Lindsey asks, as Aleks reaches to pull his shoes on. “We're leaving in ten, you better get a move on.”

“Yeah, just give me a sec,” an exasperated few words, accompanied by Aleks standing and pulling on his jacket. He's aware of how messy his hair is as he waves a half-hearted goodbye to Lindsey and dips into the small crowds of the Hub to make his way to Asher and Anna. They'd said they were making the journey a few hours away to visit Anna's sister, and they weren't sure when they were going to leave but they were planning to wait until Aleks had seen them; no promises, though, the keyword in their words was 'try.’

Aleks ignores the people attempting to stop him to ask things, either curious or wanting something from him he doesn't have time for or doesn't have, period. The Hub, thankfully, is more merchants now than the raiders he become familiar with when he was seventeen, but it makes him miss being young and unafraid. Still, the sense of a slowly building community and people coming here to make a living makes him see himself spending a long time here--

It's home here, now. Him and his friends and this woman, Lindsey, that he's known for a few days, and the sight of people huddled together along the paths of the feet-carved streets. It reminds him, with a hollow heart, of his family when he was young, those merchants that slipped him under their wings and taught him English, gave him every skill he's used up until this point to get here. He's his mother and father's kid, but he wouldn't be here without the merchants, and without their gentle guiding hands that have led him to be here now. Standing here, looking out for any signs of his friends to make sure they haven't left yet.

Anna and Asher reside temporarily near a river, something about enjoying the quiet and it being easy to find people to trade with. Aleks agrees, though can't deny that he enjoys the company of the busy Hub, and the abundance of people he was used to growing up and while at Ramsey's.

“Aleks!” a voice says, and Aleks turns towards it.

Anna, hair loose and blowing soft in the wind, Asher carrying her bag for her as she waves to Aleks. Him, with his dark hair and the dusty brown jacket he traded his shoelaces for on his first day here, before he met Anna and Asher. Compared to them, he looks like a stray, whereas nothing about them has ever seemed anything more than perfect and experienced. Anna, especially, with her hair somehow managing to be clean and tidy every time he sees her no matter the weather or time of day.

Aleks is consistent in his look, he can say that. Asher is either dressed casually or like he spent hours perfecting the multiple layers he's wearing; it's very him, like Anna's rare gentleness is very her.

“You leaving?” Aleks asks, as Anna gets closer and pulls him in for a brief hug.

“Wanted to beat the midday rush,” Asher shrugs, uninterested, but leans into the arm Anna slides around the back of his neck. “You know how busy it gets, hard to navigate around all the people when you can't see over them to where you're going.”

“Also, we were coming to see you,” Anna smiles. “Thought maybe you were still sleeping or something, and we wanted to say goodbye before we left or before you did. Lindsey said yesterday you'd probably be up by now, didn't want to miss our chance.”

“Well, you didn't.”

“ _Well_ , I'm glad we didn't,” Asher mocks, nothing harsh in his tone despite it. “Anna got you a gift and we didn't want to have to carry it around with us until you got back.”

Aleks stares, suddenly awkward at how unexpected it all is, until Anna opens her hand and he gets a good look at what's hidden there. A pair of shoelaces, too similar to the ones he traded to be coincidental, and he takes them with a laugh to replicate the twin smiles on Anna and Asher's faces. It's an inside joke, mostly, but the thought of it is still nice enough that Aleks manages a thank you with his lips barely parted, red spreading across his face. It's a nice gesture, and he feels almost guilty for not getting them something in return.

“Just… come back, okay?” Asher says.

Aleks can do nothing but nod, afraid of making a promise in case he can't keep it.

“And tell Lindsey we say hi,” Anna continues, though there's no much left to be said between them.

_

The wasteland is unbearably hot during the day, once the cold breeze of night has worn off and given way to the cloudless sky and the direct rays of the sun. It makes Aleks think back to Brett, the hat he used to wear that Aleks was secretly envious of, because he can already feel the telltale warmth of sunburn spreading across his forehead. His arms would be completely bare if not for his jacket so he's already decided not to take it off, even if the heaviness of its fabric has him overheating only a few hours into their journey.

Only thirty-seven more hours left of this-- even less if Aleks considers how long the sun will rest for once it sets and brings cool air to the wasteland. Lindsey said it'd take two days to get to New Vegas once they left the Hub, but that depended on their pace and if they ran into any trouble along the way.

“Doing alright?” Lindsey asks, jacket tied around her waist.

“Peachy,” Aleks says, breathless but pressing on.

_

“Okay, here we go… you got this, Aleksandr. You've got this.”

Aleks runs a hand through his dirty hair, his eyes caught for too long on the unrecognisable face in the mirror in front of him. The pair of scissors shake unsteady in his fingers, one gripping too hard as he uses his other hand to stretch out an awkwardly long piece of hair sweeping his forehead and blocking his eyes. He’s given himself haircuts before, after years of being on his own, but it was less common back in the days when he didn’t mind the cover of his shaggy brown hair; these days he prefers it cut closer, shorter, less of a distraction and showing more of his face.

It’s been months and no one’s mentioned Ramsey in any of the places he’s been so he’ll hold onto hope that maybe the search has been called off, or someone claimed they killed Aleks so they could take the reward. On the bitter, colder nights, he wonders if James would’ve done that, and finds himself with his hands tugging at his hair as he realises he wouldn’t be able to be mad at him for that. Brett and Trevor needed the money, and they would’ve done Aleks a favour if they had lied, taking Ramsey’s attention off him like that.

“Hey!”Lindsey calls, a soft fist against the door, causing Aleks to jerk his hand and snip uneasily at his fringe. “You done in there yet?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbles, the scissors clashing into the sink as he moves to unlock and open the door. Lindsey’s still got her hand raised up to it, a pair of goggles perched up on her head as she moves her head to look at him, humour but unbridled concern filling her eyes. “I need your help, okay? And you don’t get to say I told you so-”

“I told you so,” she smirks, pushing past Aleks into the bathroom as he sighs. “I also told you to ask for help from the start and you refused it, so your uneven fringe is pretty sweet revenge. Wait until I tell Asher you tried to do it yourself and ending up looking like this, he’ll never let you live it down.”

“Asher pisses me off,” Aleks says- _lies-_ under his breath, fingers going to toss his hair about self-consciously. “If you tell him, I’ll leave.”

“Yeah, right,” Lindsey laughs, and her hand is cold as she grips Aleks’ lower arm and guides him back to the mirror. “Like you’d leave looking like this, at least wait until I’ve fixed it up before you throw yourself back out into the wasteland. Radroaches get one look at you and they’d probably run the other way.” She pauses, gently tossing about Aleks’ hair considerably before she adds, “On second thought, maybe you should keep it- you're not a very good shot.”

“Wow, the disrespect,” Aleks jokes, and Lindsey's laugh is bright as she takes the scissors from the sink with her free hand.

“I can't do this well if you're going to be complaining about it the whole time,” she grins, brushing Aleks’ hair as she considers the uneven lengths of it.

He complies, hands balled into fists as his own hair falls down around him. He wants to move away at some points, at how unlike him his reflection looks when he gets a good look at himself in it. Aleks has never been the type to focus too much on his appearance but now he can, and it's obvious in small ways how much he's aged over the years.

“Look, it's not a great job but it looks nice,” Lindsey says, as Aleks draws himself back into the moment and catches his reflection. He liked it better longer, but maybe this will grow on him. “Matches your face, if you ask me.”

Aleks makes a too obvious face and she laughs, handing him back the scissors as she begins clearing away the brown hair on the floor. There’s not too much of it, and Aleks is too occupied with his own reflection to help, eyes drawing across his face and examining his features, and knowing that it’s been so long since he got to do this that the person staring back doesn’t really look like him anymore. Him but different, him but older and less innocent, someone who knows what this world does more than teenaged Aleks did. After Aron, he’d tried not to get close to anyone, and now his heart feels too heavy to be as empty as he wishes it were; Lindsey and her friends are safe, he thinks, or hopes.

Thinking back to a time in a motel, a boy whose name Aleks has tried to forget, he turns his back on the mirror and follows Lindsey out of the room and to their things.

“Ready?” Lindsey asks, handing his backpack to him.

“For the wasteland?” Aleks laughs. “Never.”

_

New Vegas is unbelievably beautiful at night, with the bright lights visible from miles away and residents on the street outside their homes playing card games on crate boxes. They stare at Aleks and Lindsey as they pass, curiosity in their gazes as they survey them, eyes lingering on what little possessions they're carrying and the gun tucked into Aleks’ waistband. His knife is in his backpack, safe with his bottle of water and his ring tucked into a small velvet pouch Lindsey leant him.

New Vegas is nothing like Aleks has seen before, not Freeside, anyway. He's heard of its reputation enough to know to stay away in the past, the days where no one was looking to kill him. Now, Ramsey might be; Aleks calms his nerves about that in the only way he knows how, by biting the bullet of not thinking about James and remembering how desperate Brett and Trevor were for that money, enough to probably lie about killing Aleks.

It's a comforting thought, but only because that having happened would mean he wouldn't need to watch his back here. He will, out of fear of the worst, but the calm of the scattered crowds of people and their soft voices relaxes that tinge of fear he feels. The future is uncertain and terrifying, no matter how he tries to rationalise that maybe it isn't, it forever will be. No amount of thinking and planning and calculating could ever had led him of a few weeks ago to assume he'd someday end up in New Vegas, with Lindsey to help her find her friends.

It's then that she reaches a hand out and tugs at his sleeve, bunching the loose fabric of his jacket in her fingers and stopping him from continuing to walk.

“This looks like the place,” Lindsey says, voice full of nerves.

“Want me to check?” he asks, but she shakes her head before he can continue. “After you then, I guess.”

With a small nudge, she tugs on the door and it opens, revealing a dimly lit room and a foyer of nothingness. There's a couch and a table, considerably nicer than the rest of the houses they saw on their way here, but worry pits at Aleks’ chest when he notices how empty it is. It seems like a trap, the luring them here for just this, except Lindsey appears to trust it, turning to Aleks before she takes the first step inside. Aleks, reluctantly, follows, though glances around to make sure they're alone.

“Through here, must be,” Lindsey mutters, walking through another door as Aleks keeps close to her.

It doesn't feel right, nothing about it does, especially when Aleks looks up to ahead of them and his whole body tenses up at what he sees.

“Aleksandr?”

The voice stops every thought Aleks was having dead in its track. The person standing there is too familiar, too the same as they were when he left months ago; their hair is tied up, small curls framing their face, and they're wearing lighter clothes than they were back in the winter. It's autumn soon, something about the stale cold of the air making that obvious, but Aleks isn't focusing on that.

He's focusing on James, on the way his heart has taken a leap out of his chest and crushed itself to the ground. He wishes it had, because maybe he wouldn't be standing here with a foot inching forward despite everything in his body warning him against it, hands shaking but knowing they'll relax the moment James takes them. It's dangerous, this, the _knowing_ that sits at the back of Aleks’ mind of what happened last time-- of why Aleks took off in the first place and why they haven't seen each other since.

James, walking forward slow to match Aleks’ own gentle footsteps towards him. His beard is growing in nicely, Aleks notes, and it's certainly not fair how much Aleks wants to press himself against James’ side and forget about how awful these past few weeks have been. Without Asher and Anna, and Lindsey, Aleks would've been completely alone, desperate and scared and close to praying for some kind of sign. All those days and nights, shivering to himself and avoiding danger, and not being able to stop thinking about how he wouldn't mind if James was around.

Then, it was easy to convince himself that it was nothing more than loneliness; now, with James smiling at him with an expression that seems the opposite of Aleks’ own fear, Aleks knows it was more. You can't spend weeks with someone relying on one another for everything and not develop some kind of attachment to them, after suffering through the wasteland together and falling into something together that Aleks had been too focused on staying to think of a name for.

All those days ago, wanting to kick himself in the head for fucking up all this the way he has, wondering how he was stupid enough to not fix this with Ramsey the way he should've. That, and why despite his best attempts there was nothing that could repair what he'd lost with, and in, James. A friend for the first time in years, someone Aleks thought he could trust, and something more than that that held a confusing and uncertain future.

It still does, without a doubt-- this time, though, Aleks doesn't know if he should be preparing a goodbye he never got to say last time. Always running, always failing, never making promises because he never learnt how to keep them… what's different here, with James close enough to reach out and touch?

“Aleks?” James, again, with his voice smooth and a smile clear in his words.

Aleks stares, aware of how ridiculous he must look right now, with his haircut and his new clothes, and how James hasn't changed at all. He looks good, in a mesmerising way that makes it difficult for Aleks to shift his attention off him onto anything else, to Trevor and Brett watching curiously in the background or Lindsey walking towards them to say hello.

“Long time no see,” Aleks says, and James sighs in what seems like relief, relaxing some of Aleks’ nerves.

“Thought maybe you'd still be pissed at me,” James admits, his tone and expression revealing his shyness. “For the Ramsey thing, and also sorry I tried to get you killed.”

“Not one to, uh, not one to hold a grudge, I guess,” Aleks barely manages, his voice trapping in his throat as he tries to speak. “How have you been?”

James stares, his breathing heavier, and Aleks doesn't argue when he says, “This is ridiculous, Aleks, c'mere.”

The way Aleks falls into him is welcomed, James’ hands instantly grabbing at Aleks to hold him against him. It's warm, it's familiar, it's scary in ways things haven't been close to in years, even taking the past few months into consideration and the mess of a life Aleks built for himself. Every decision he's made, every time he thought back to James and how he could never quite figure out if he wanted to see him again or instead just live never knowing, has led to now.

Aleks’ hands haven't never felt more like his own than they do as they grab at James, holding on and making the hug more intense than James likely intended it to be. It's safe, even if Aleks’ paranoia conjures up thoughts of James deciding to very literally stab him in the back right now, or of Ramsey walking through the door any minute now to finally get his revenge. Out of all the things he saw coming, this was definitely not one of them.

“Lindsey, it's good to see you,” Brett says in the distance, embracing Lindsey for a fond moment behind James’ back.

All Aleks’ thoughts are fucked, so thoroughly confused and conflicted on what this is. He doesn't know if he should do this or pull away and demand answers he wants, just not as much as he wants a moment to let this all sink in. The past will never fully heal, but Aleks thinks of every second chance he used to wish he had with Aron and even with Novac in mind, and the anger and hurt he had to cycle through after he found out James’ truth, Aleks can't be mad. He absolutely can't.

He's never been good at holding grudges, not when seeing James like this only cements how sorry he must be. James tried to explain and apologise, and Aleks was scared so he fled instead of listening. They both made a mistake there, betrayal or not; James knows Aleks didn't do it, and he didn't turn him in, and maybe Aleks is easy to please but he'll take that.

“I'm glad you're okay,” James breathes, cutting off any potential words of Aleks’ by following it with, “Let's go talk outside.”

There's a balcony overlooking the rest of this part of New Vegas, and James leads Aleks by his hand up a pair of stairs and out onto it, embracing the cool breeze and visible stars overhead. It's nice out, nearing dawn as still awake residents shuffle further to life around their houses and through the streets. Aleks can see the lights of a bar, drunk patrons and people walking out of it supposedly back at home. It's picturesque, something Aleks couldn't have imagined even in his dreams.

The sun parts the remainders of night, Aleks’ hand slowly reaching for James’, who immediately grabs back tight. He doesn't know what to say at first so he says nothing, until he focuses a little too much on that afternoon in Novac with James instead of on the sunset he's supposed to be watching, and says,

“Wasn't sure I'd get to see one of these again.”

James tightens his grip, and his free hand moves to press gentle fingertips to Aleks’ jaw, using it to force Aleks’ attention to him. Up close, Aleks can see how equally rough their time apart has been on James, but he's not going to ruin the moment by asking what happened after he ran away; if James took credit for killing Aleks, or if he took his friends and left.

He leans in a little too expectantly, and James’ smile is almost brighter than the rising sun. His eyes reflect the little sunlight, and Aleks notes the details in his skin before James leans in, capturing his lips in a kiss and silencing Aleks’ racing thoughts. Aleks presses into it, hands grabbing for whatever part of James they can, and he tries to ignore all the things they'll need to talk about sometime in the future. For now, Aleks is content with not knowing, with getting to appreciate this for what it is-- he and James, finding each other in the world miraculously for the second time these past few months.

“Hi,” James whispers, lips so close to Aleks’ he can feel the buzz of James’ speech.

“Hello,” he says back, and smiles without hesitation when James steals another kiss.

 _Hello, I thought I'd never see you again_ or _Hello, I hated you for a few hours a couple weeks ago but now I definitely don't_ or _Hello, it's you, it's always you._

Or, everything Aleks wants to say or never got to say all at once.

_Hello, I think love you._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **links:**
> 
>  
> 
> personal tumblr [here](http://gavinsaleks.tumblr.com) !  
> new cowchop sideblog [here](http://linzbots.tumblr.com) !  
> writing sideblog [here](http://fakespoetry.tumblr.com) !
> 
>  ♡.


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